


Convergence

by Olympus117



Category: Mass Effect, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Adapting to new circumstances, Crossover, Kicking ass and taking names, Survival, bit of a potty mouth though, okay a lot of gore, some gore, typical Shepard badassery, watch out Middle Earth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-22 20:06:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4848773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olympus117/pseuds/Olympus117
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the firing of the Crucible, the dark energy from the blast sends Commander Shepard someplace ... different. Now her best (and only) chance to get home is a suicidal quest to destroy one ring. Fortunately Abigail Shepard is a rather old hat with suicide missions. Female Shepard, Vanguard, War Hero, Paragade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unexpected Journey

_**A/N:** _ _So, I've been daydreaming about this story for ages, wishing someone would write something like this ... Then I realised – I could! So this is my answer to the (Destroy) ending of ME3 because well, let's be honest, Bioware fucked that one up. I tried to keep it a grounded and possible as I could, but with stories like this, some willing suspension of disbelief is inevitably required – that and because I'm not a very good writer. So here it is!_

_Shepard is a woman, a Vanguard, with a War Hero Background. She is half Paragon, half Renegade - so essentially altruistic, but not above getting her hands dirty._

**Chapter One**

**An Unexpected Journey**

* * *

Commander Abigail Shepard staggered up the steps, fiery pain blossoming with each desperate step she took, her vision smearing to the side like fading watercolours. Black spots danced across her eyes as exhaustion clawed at her, threatening to drag her into unconsciousness.

Ahead, the console glinted in the shadowed, half-light of the Council chambers, maddeningly just out of reach. Abigail coughed and tasted blood welling up in her mouth. Spitting it out to the side, she continued on despite wanting nothing more than to just lie down on the cool metal floor and let sweet oblivion overtake her.

She stumbled forward, eventually making it to the other side of the chamber. She must have blacked out for a moment because the next thing she knew, she was leaning on the console, her blood dripping down through the holographic controls.

Abigail squinted, trying to read the panels but her vision continued to swim in and out of focus. She reached out with trembling hands and somehow managed to open communications. Instantly, a thousand different voices, from every race, flooded the room, coming from every ship in the fleet above Earth, each locked in their own desperate battles. Screams for assistance, orders to flank the Reaper ships, cries of "Incoming!" and a myriad other calls mixed together into a cacophony of noise.

Another voice cut through the rest.  _"Sword fleet, this is Admiral Hackett. The Crucible is in position and will lock down onto the station in ten seconds. Stand by. We don't know what this thing is going do."_

"This is … Shepard," Abigail rasped out, the words shooting a burning pain down her raw throat. She tried again, "Does … does anybody copy?" but her voice was drowned out, only one out of many.

There was an enormous dull grating sound that shook the whole Citadel. A moment later the console in front of her shimmered and was replaced by a pulsating blue oval orb. It resembled the core of a mass relay, floating in space. Thrumming with energy, it hovered at chest level in front of her.

Abigail squinted at it in confusion.  _…the hell?_

" _Something is wrong,"_ Hackett said _. "The Crucible is attached but it is not firing. Nothing is happening."_

" _Sir, we've detected a strange power surge among all the Citadel systems. There appears to be a huge dark energy draw increase from the Sol relay."_

" _So it's powered – but why isn't it firing?"_

Abigail tried to think, wracking her weary brain. "Something …there must be … something… I can … do."

Shepard glanced around the empty room, hoping for  _anything_ , a clue, a hint. In her pain-addled state, her eyes rested on the blue orb and after a moment, she reached out, fingers hovering above the pulsating light. Blue sparks shot out from the orb, dancing across her fingertips. She shrank back, but surprisingly, there was no pain. Abigail closed her eyes and reached out a trembling hand.

"Fuck it. Here goes nothing," she said to no-one, and she slammed her palm into the blue orb. A flash of electric blue light lit up the chamber before the world dissolved and she found herself floating in blackness.

There was nothing, yet Abigail knew for certain that  _she_  was there, despite not knowing exactly where 'there' was. Slowly, tiny pinpricks of light started to come into being around her and Abigail came to the startling conclusion that she was floating in space.

Despite the impossibility of such a thing, she didn't have it in her to question it. She needed to find a way to fire the Crucible. Preferably before all life in the galaxy became extinct.

"Hello?" she called out. "Is anyone there? What … what do I need to do?"

A flicker of blue caught her eye and she suddenly spun around. A wisp of blue energy danced in the space around her before coming to a stop in front of Abigail and coalescing into an ethereal form of a young boy. His transparent body shimmered and seemed to be made of energy that trailed around in tendrils of light.

Tensing, Abigail asked it cautiously. "Who are you?"

"I am the Catalyst," the boy replied, his voice echoing with the words of a thousand others. His head turned to the side, almost curiously as he seemed to examine Shepard. "I am the beginning and the end, of everything. I am that which you call the 'Citadel'."

Stowing her shock for the moment, she tried to remain focused. "Can you tell me how to destroy the Reapers?"

The Catalyst paused for a moment and looked up into her eyes. "That is within my programing," he said.

"Then do it already!" she snapped.

"I –" The Catalyst suddenly cut off, its form wavering, fading in and out of being. Abigail frowned. What the…?

Then with a flash of white light, the child disappeared, replaced by a tall, ethereal figure. Garbed in loose, flowing light green robes, with a hood over its head, it seemed humanoid, yet at the same time – not.

Abigail took a shocked step back, her hand automatically going to her pistol. "Who are you?" she demanded. "What happened to the Catalyst?"

The figure raised both its hands, palms up. "Peace child. I mean you no harm."

"Who the hell are you?" Abigail repeated firmly.

The figure turned to the side, before seeming to fade, its robes and body growing slightly translucent. It doubled over in pain, gasping. "It's fighting me – we haven't much time." It looked up at her, its face still shrouded in a fuzzy darkness. "Listen closely child. The fate of many rests in your hands. You must not fail."

"What –?"

"No – do not speak. There is no time. I have overridden the Catalyst – Crucible will now fire. Do not lose hope. We have waited for so long – the end is now near."

With those last words, everything began to blur and the stars disappeared, the black of space once again engulfing her. A rushing sensation filled her and Abigail began to tumble uncontrollably through the darkness.

Abigail found herself back in the Council chamber, along with all of the pain which came rushing back, the intensity of it forcing her to all fours. The console had re-appeared and a moment later, the cacophony of voices rushed back, as if someone had suddenly turned the volume back up.

_"This is Hackett. The Crucible is unresponsive. Repeat, the Crucible is not firing! Reaper forces are converging on the Citadel, all units engage. Don't let them near it!"_

_"Wait – Sir, I've got dark energy readings. The input just tripled!"_

A low hum vibrated throughout the Citadel, followed by a loud groan. Abigail could feel the very floor thrumming with energy.

_"The Citadel arms are opening!"_

Abigail managed to push herself to her feet, her head spinning with vertigo, and slammed her hand on the communications console, activating a broad open channel.

"This is …" she coughed, blood rising up her throat. She spat it out and continued, " – Commander Shepard. The Crucible is ready to fire. Get your people out of there. Repeat: Crucible is about to fire."

There was a burst of static, before a voice responded,  _"This is the Orizaba. Roger that! We read you Commander! You did it!"_

_"This is Admiral Hackett, all units, break off! We are showing that the Crucible is activating. Estimated time to fire is sixty seconds."_

Abigail sighed and slumped to the floor, her back against the console. They had done it. Everything in she had done in the last few months had been leading to this, all of the death, the pain, the sacrifice. She knew she probably wouldn't survive but just knowing that the others would be safe – that they had made it was good enough. Incomprehensible relief flowed through her.

_"Commander, this is Hackett. Goddamn, you did it Commander! … Commander Shepard –respond!"_

Everything was becoming blurry and the voices in the channel grew muffled, fading away into echoes.

_"Commander? Commander Shepard? Do you read ... do you … read … Commander –?"_

A burst of static, then:  _"Crucible … is firing. Dark … readings are off the … charts! Stand … for … impact!}_

There was a shuddering groan, then the world lit up white. Energy filled the air, hissing and crackling. The entire Citadel seemed to come alive, every surface glowing a radiant white. The wave of white energy engulfed Abigail and she felt the unmistakable crackle of her biotics come to life around her.

"What …?"

She was cut off as the white energy – tinged with odd shades of green – seemed to pour into her, mixing in with her biotics. Flashes of blue, green and white filled her vision and she let out a wordless scream as the entire Citadel violently shook. Then Abigail felt the familiar tug of a biotic charge, the low swoop of her stomach, reminiscent of travelling through mass relays. The energy enveloped her and for a brief moment, she could see nothing; there was utter silence.

A loud rushing noise assaulted her ears and the very air around her lit up with energy in every colour of the spectrum. Abigail found herself slipping away, the pain of her injuries finally taking their toll. She more felt than saw the stream of energy around her, and for a brief moment, she saw endless stars, shining brilliantly against the black of space. Then an enormous explosion – like she was being torn apart and put back together again – sent her tumbling into darkness and Commander Abigail Shepard knew no more.

* * *

The white energy died down and the Citadel returned to its normal colour. In the Council chambers, the console flickered to life.  _"Shepard! This is Hackett … Shepard, do you read … Commander! Respond!"_

The chamber remained silent and empty.

Hours later, when C-Sec and Alliance personnel managed to breach the Council Chambers, they found the body of Captain Anderson, the mangled corpse of the Illusive Man and various other bodies of Cerberus personnel.

But though they tried, scouring the entire Presidium – and even the Citadel, it was all in vain. Not one trace of their hero remained.

Commander Shepard was simply gone.


	2. Awakening

**Chapter Two**

**Awakening**

* * *

The first thing that Shepard became aware of was how  _goddamn_  cold it was. Her green eyes slowly, painfully flickered open. A brilliant night sky stared back down at her, millions of stars winking merrily. Abigail shivered; she could see her breath come out in little clouds of white smoke above her.

For a moment, she was confused. Where was she? Basic? On-board the Normandy? Then the events of the past few hours caught up with her and she shut her eyes, the rush of memories all jumbled and disjointed, making her head pound.

_The Reapers._  Had they won? Abigail wracked her brain. She remembered fighting on Earth with the Hammer teams, the mad rush for the beam. She remembered being hit by Harbinger's MHD, the excruciating pain of having her flesh burned off. She remembered somehow managing to get to the Citadel, to the Council chambers. Anderson dying. The Illusive Man.

She had managed to open the Citadel and they had docked the Crucible. Then – what had happened? It all seemed like a blur of pain and even more pain. She vaguely recalled opening communications with Sword Fleet. Hackett's voice …

Damn it, why was this so hard to remember?

There had been a problem, the Crucible didn't fire, she had to do something … then there had been something … blue?

"The Catalyst!" she said out loud, and then broke out in a fit of coughing, her throat raw, although thankfully, no blood came up this time.

At this, Shepard rocketed to full consciousness. Adrenaline pounding through her body washed away the remaining vestiges of sleep and she blinked, the soldier in her instantly taking in her surroundings as she staggered to her feet, wincing as her injuries vehemently protested her actions. A hiss of pain escaped her lips and she almost fell back down again as just about her entire body flared up.

"Damn," she muttered, and closed her eyes, taking several deep breaths and relegating the pain to her back of her mind.

She glanced up. It was night, as attested by the darkness that enveloped everything like a thick blanket and the stars twinkling above. And it was fucking  _cold_.

Teeth chattering, she twisted around, noting the silhouettes of several trees. Aside from that and the sparse undergrowth, open plains stretched out in all directions. In the far distance, she could vaguely make out the outlines of a mountain range across the horizon.

Where  _was_  she? Abigail frowned. Could she have crash landed on Earth? If that was the case, how had she not burned up on re-entry? And if the Citadel had been destroyed, there would be at least  _some_ wreckage. Looking around, she could see no odd shapes protruding from the landscape that hinted to hunks of space-station hull.

Abigail shook her head. She'd worry about that later; more important matters demanded her attention. She assessed her own condition: Her injuries were still there, painfully smarting yet not burning furiously as they had before. From what little she could tell in the darkness, her skin was still badly scarred. Almost glowing in the dark, orange scars criss-crossed exposed flesh, her cybernetic implants showing through.

Her plate armour was rent apart and mangled, at some places the ceramic had fused or completely boiled down to her skin suit, which also bore numerous holes and gashes – although thankfully, it still held together. A quick, almost instinctive check of her kinetic barrier emitter found it still active, although without her helmet, she was unable to fully assess its functionality. Similarly, her hand brushed across the back of her neck, checking her biotic implant. The L5x seemed undamaged, but again, only time would tell.

In the darkness, she groped for her carnifexand discovered it miraculously still attached to her hip plate. She fumbled with the weapon for a brief moment before it occurred to her to check her Omni tool. The orange holographic glove lit up on her arm, illuminating the world around her. It was then that she realised that she was standing in the middle of a wide crater. Although only around half a metre deep, it stretched out for several metres of scorched black dirt.

Well … That led credence to the falling-to-the-planet theory.

Another thought occurred to her. How long had she been out? Bringing up her Omni tool, she consulted the time and date. Doing some quick arithmetic in her head, she deduced that it had been roughly thirteen hours since Sword and Hammer fleets struck Earth. So factoring in the time spent in battle and the events of the Citadel, she had been unconscious for about … eleven hours.

Abigail frowned then brought up a scan. A holographic representation of her body appeared above her Omni tool, numerous sections of which were highlighted in flashing red light. Almost her entire body was critically injured. Shock filtered through her.

_I shouldn't be awake. By all rights I shouldn't even be alive! How the fuck …?_

An old memory flashed through Abigail's mind from the SR-2 of Miranda and Dr. Chawakas informing her of the extent of her Cerberus augmentations. Hadn't it been something about ... nanites and cybernetic healing accelerants?

It had just been after one of her first missions with Cerberus and she had been injured, a lucky merc's bullet having managed to sneak in between her armour plates. But to her utter surprise, once the bullet fragment had been extracted, her skin had begun to heal at an alarming rate. Of course, this hadn't escaped the attention of Dr. Chawakas and the good doctor had immediately paged Miranda Lawson, demanding an explanation  _right this goddamn minute_ about exactly what Cerberus had done to Shepard.

Miranda had coolly walked in to the medical bay and then proceeded into a lecture about cybernetics and augmentation filled with scientific and technical jargon that had gone right over Abigail's head. All she had managed to glean from that (mostly) one sided conversation was that Cerberus had implanted in her some form of microscopic cybernetics that accelerated her healing.

Abigail had then interrupted Miranda, "So, basically what you're saying is: I'll heal quick."

Miranda paused then tilted her head, "It really is more complicated than that Commander, although in essence, I suppose, yes –"

"Good," Abigail said. "That's all I needed to know. You are free to return to your duties."

"Of course, Commander."

Ever since then, she hadn't really paid it much thought, just taking it for granted. She examined her palm. By the light of her Omni tool, she could see the scars and burns carpeting her skin, but it no longer looked quite as red and angry, instead, they looked as if they were several days old.

No doubt, those implants were the only reason she had survived.

_That's twice you've saved my life, Miranda._

A gust of wind shook Abigail out of her reverie and she shivered. Although her battered armour offered some protection from the harsh elements, it was designed for combat, not comfort and without her helmet; her head was still vulnerable to the bitter cold.

Spotting the outline of a clump of trees to the side, Abigail decided that getting into cover would be the best decision. Once she had a fire going, then she could further assess her options. Her cybernetics may have saved her life, but they wouldn't help if she caught pneumonia.

Abigail began to hobble off towards the trees, her entire body flaring up in pain with every jolt and step.

Much later, as she huddled over a small, crackling fire - started by a low level incinerate from her Omni tool, Shepard examined her only weapon. The M-9 carnifex hand cannon was battered, but the damage was mainly cosmetic and the weapon still remained perfectly functional. However, a more pressing concern was that it only had one thermal clip left. Six rounds before it would be useless.

Abigail frowned at the pistol in her hands, turning it over and ejecting and re-inserting the clip with a dull  _click_. With some time and patience (and liberal application of her Omni tool) she might just be able to modify it to its pre-thermal clip configuration, using once again the inbuilt heat sink, as opposed to the disposable clip. But for the moment, Abigail decided that she would keep the pistol in reserve for extreme emergencies only and rely instead on her biotics and her Omni blade.

As it was, she was still exhausted from the battle of Earth and although her wounds had healed to the point where they were the equivalent of being several days old, her body's reserves of energy were very nearly depleted. She seriously doubted if she could even manage a weak biotic push in her current state, let alone a heavy charge.

As long was she didn't run into anything that tried to kill her _…_ Abigail snorted. Well, at least for a few days anyway.

Speaking of which, Abigail still had no idea as to where she currently might be. She had tried contacting Hackett, the Normandy – anyone and everyone she could, but instead, she was only greeted with static and her Omni tool flashing red and continuing to state in a maddeningly pleasant VI tone:  _:"Your call could not be connected. Please check your wireless communication status."_

Even tuning in to an open broadcast channel and there was nothing, not even the faintest hint of a radio signal. Wherever she had ended up, there was apparently not an inch of technology for hundreds of kilometres around (or at all). And her Omni tool could only do so much; it didn't have enough power to send off an interplanetary distress signal.

_Where the fuck am I?_

The obvious conclusion was that something in the Crucible had caused this.  _Yes, but what?_

A possibility came to her after a few moments of silent contemplation: There had been an enormous build-up of dark energy at the Citadel when the Crucible was being fired – which she also happened to be right smack-bang in the middle of. And dark energy had the nasty habit of doing shit that nobody quite understood, as well as telling physics to go jump off a bridge.

She vaguely recalled the strange lurch that she had felt when the Crucible had fired, almost like how she felt during a charge. Then there had been a tremendous explosion and since copious amounts of dark energy were involved, it was safe to say that she could be anywhere in the galaxy at the moment.

_Or even anywhere in the universe. Or shit, with my fucking luck, maybe even a whole new universe altogether!_

Abigail shook her head, strands of red hair falling over her eyes. She gave a weary sigh. Endless theories and speculating till' the cows came home weren't going to help her here. She was no doctor or scientist. She knew exactly  _shit all_  about astrophysics or the quantum mechanics of dark energy. She'd have to worry about that later. Being a soldier meant being able to adapt quickly to unknown situations and that pragmatism was what she needed right now.

Assuming she  _had_  been catapulted across the galaxy (or the universe) her first priority was survival. Which meant water, food and shelter. In that order. And as she was still wounded and fresh out of medigel, someplace where she could sleep for a good few hours un-interrupted so her implants could fix up the worst of her injuries would be nice too.

Abigail bought up a compass on her Omni tool and after a brief calibration, north turned out to be in the direction of the distant mountains. She'd head there tomorrow, at first light. Her Omni tool was showing the current time to be 10:11 pm, but whatever world she'd ended up in would most likely have different hour days – so dawn could be no more than a couple of hours or an entire day away. Best to get some rest while she could.

Shepard watched her small fire burn down into embers, small sparks jumping into the air. Her gaze mesmerised by the dying fire, she couldn't help but wonder:  _Did we win? Was it all worth it, in the end?_

She mentally shoved that thought aside. Of course it had been worth it. Anything to even have a  _chance_  to stop the damn Reapers. She felt a pang in her heart as she thought about her friends, her crew.

_Ashley, Vega, Joker, EDI, Miranda, Sam, Tali, Wrex, Mordin, Garrus, Legion, Anderson. . . Liara._

Those she had  _really_  fought for if she was honest with herself; not the galaxy, not the faceless trillions but the people who had made it all worth it, in the end. And how many of them had even survived?

_Don't think like that,_  Abigail berated herself.  _I can't afford to think like that. I will get back to them. I will make it out of here . . . wherever 'here' is._

She had to.

Abigail sighed, wearily rubbing her face and wincing as she brushed against the still raw flesh.

A faint howl in the distance caught her attention. Shepard immediately stilled, her head cocked to the side as her ears strained to make out any sound.

There it was again.

A faint howling drifted through the air, accompanied by the clank of boots on the ground and the wild screech of inhuman voices.

_What the fuck …?_

Abigail cursed and hurriedly kicked dirt over the remains of her fire, plunging the world around her in darkness. She frantically blinked and as her night vision slowly returned, and she could make out the small orange flicker of fire moving closer to her position. A moment of confusion, before:

_Pitch torches_ , she realised. It was followed closely by,  _Who the fuck uses that medieval shit?_

Abigail scrambled to her feet, hand automatically reaching for her pistol. She halted. Maybe these were friendly locals? It wouldn't do to piss them off by accidentally shooting one of them in the head.

She kept her carnifex holstered, opting instead to prep her Omni blade and concentrate her energy in case she needed to use her biotics.

_Not a good idea_ , said a disapproving voice in the back of her head that sounded suspiciously like Dr. Chawakas.  _You are dehydrated, injured and exhausted. Conditions that are_ not _conducive to use of biotics._

_Sorry Doc. Desperate times and all …_

She could now see figures in the distance, getting steadily closer. The screeching was getting louder along with the distinct clang of metal on metal. She could also hear savage, menacing growling. For a second, she almost thought it was a pack of vorcha, before realising that the figures were much too short and small. The wind shifted and the stench of rotting flesh assaulted her nostrils. Abigail gagged, fighting the urge to vomit. Even husks didn't smell that bad. And they were  _husks_.

The figures came closer and Abigail took cover by one of the small trees, Omni tool at the ready. There was a screech and suddenly a grotesque creature appeared in front of Shepard. It was small and hunched up, with heavily disfigured leathery black skin, some form of crude metal armour over its body, and small, cruel yellow eyes. It made a twisted sort of hissing sound, baring its rotting teeth and contorting its head in an almost snake-like manner, a savage, feral grin cutting across its face.

The creature suddenly drew some form of axe from its hip and lunged at her. Abigail reacted almost without thinking. Her carnifex was out and in the blink of an eye, the heavy pistol barked once and the creature was blown back to the ground, a fist sized hole in its face, black blood splattering everywhere.

_Ah, shit, there goes diplomacy._

Angry screeching filled the air as the rest of the creatures arrived just in time to see their comrade's impromptu lobotomy. There was a loud roar and as one, the mob of creatures all drew weapons; rusty swords and axes, some carrying shields, and simultaneously rushed her.

Abigail raised her Omni tool and with a wordless command, a silicon carbide blade instantly flash fabricated, glowing white hot and held suspended by mass effect fields. With her other hand, she holstered her pistol and drew her hand into a fist. Blue fire surrounded her body in a corona of dark energy as the crackle of biotics filled the air.

With a loud shout, she charged.

In the space of a split second, Abigail was propelling herself forward in a stream of blue biotic light. She connected with one of the creatures with a detonation that sent the rest of them flying backwards into the dirt.

Coming out of her charge, she immediately drove her omniblade into the chest of the unlucky creature that had managed to remain standing. The white-hot blade punctured through its crude armour like a hot knife through butter, before she cut upwards, vivisecting its upper body with a spray of black blood. Around her, the other creatures thrown to the ground were regaining their senses, screeching and howling, scrambling to recover their dropped weapons.

Abigail didn't give them a chance.

Her omniblade flashed four times, an almost surreal streak of glowing orange in the darkness of the night. Four of the creatures fell to the ground, all missing their heads. The N7 marine was moving before their bodies even hit the dirt. Adrenaline pumping through her veins and dulling the pain of her wounds, she wove through the remaining creatures in a – although no less deadly – half limp. Her left arm was flashing in perfectly timed strikes, omniblade cutting through bone, flesh and armour with almost ridiculous ease, at times igniting the fabric underneath and sending the unfortunate creature to a painful burning death.

The air around Abigail suddenly sparked up blue and a small wickedly sharp black arrow fell to the ground, its shaft splintered, deflected by her kinetic barrier. Another arrow sailed out of the night only to meet the same fate.

_Arrows?_  Abigail thought incredulously.  _Who the hell uses arrows?_

Her eyes immediately scanned the surrounding area, zeroing in on the direction the projectiles had come from. Her keen eyes found the small figure a good distance away, visible as only a fleeting shadow against the night sky. With one smooth motion, she drew, aimed and fired her carnifex, the handcannon barking loudly and sending a paint-chip sized projectile through the air at an incredible velocity, slamming into the chest of the creature in the distance that was in the middle of re-loading its bow, killing it instantly.

Capitalising on her distraction, one of the creature managed to get under her guard and, snarling viciously, struck at Abigail with a large, jagged sword. Although moving too slowly for her barriers to block, the rusty metal only clanged against her armour, barely denting the steel and ceramic. Even though it didn't penetrate, the force behind the blow was not inconsiderable and forced Abigail back, her side flaring up in pain as her injuries protested the violent treatment.

_Fuck…_

Abigail growled and in response, her body flared up with biotics and she made a flicking gesture with her hand, causing the offending creature to be snatched up into the air by pale blue fire then slammed back down onto the ground with a sickening crunch.

There had been about a dozen of the creatures to begin with, now only four remained. These ones were more cautious however after watching the rest of their group decimated in so many seconds by the woman wielding blue magic and a blade of flames. They circled her warily, snarling at each other in an unfamiliar, guttural language; none of them wanting to attack first.

Abigail took the chance for a quick respite to catch her breath and gather her strength. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, the full brunt of her injuries were making their presence known once again. Painfully. Her muscles burned and her whole body was awash with fatigue. She gritted her teeth and drew deep into the reserves of her strength, steeling herself for the remaining fight ahead. And she wasn't a moment too soon.

The four remaining creatures all charged at once, howling crazily into the air, weapons held up high. Abigail responded by gathering together as much biotic power as she could in her weakened state and unleashing a miniature shockwave around her. Although relatively weak compared to what she was capable of normally, as it was, Abigail almost fainted as her body drew on her last remaining energy stores to fuel the biotic attack, darkness tugging at the edge of her vision.

The blue wave rippled in a small radius around her causing the remaining creatures to stumble back, giving Abigail time to lunge forward and drive her omniblade into the heart of the creature in front of her. It died with a twisted scream and collapsed onto the ground but just as quickly, another took its place, snarling and attempting to disembowel her with a pike. Shepard neatly side stepped the thrust and responded with a swipe of her own, the white hot blade separating the creature's head from the rest of its body. But that left her sides open to attack, something which the remaining two creatures took full advantage off.

Likely knowing that they would lose against her in a straight fight, the creatures opted to instead tackle her. In her weakened state, Abigail offered little resistance and was bowled over, crashing painfully to the ground, the air knocked out of her lungs, black spots dancing in front of her eyes. The creatures were on top of her a second later, tearing into her armour and to every bit of exposed flesh with dagger sharp, curved nails.

Shepard almost blacked out as one of the creatures landed a hit on her ribs, jostling one of the many fractures in the bone. With a pained grunt, she managed to bring up her omniblade and make a half-hearted swipe at the creature. Her movements were sluggish however and the creature easily dodged it. Fast running out of energy and with every nerve in her body crying out in pain, hastening the loss of her already shaky grip on consciousness; Abigail knew she had to end this fight. Now.

She managed to roll to her side, slightly dislodging the creature above her and groped around her hip, her fingers finding the cool handle of her pistol. She brought up the Carnifex, the weapon unfolding in a second, jammed it right into the face of one of the creatures and pulled on the trigger resulting in an explosion of black blood and rank flesh raining down on her as the creature's head was promptly blown off.

Partially free of some weight, Abigail twisted and brought her elbow upwards, slamming it into the last creature's windpipe, causing it to choke and instinctively grasp its throat. She quickly raised her pistol and fired again, blowing the creature back in a mess of blood and gore as the bullet punched through armour and eviscerated its torso.

The night returned to silence.

Breathing hard and covered in blood – both her own and the strange black blood of the creatures, and far too exhausted to move or even remotely give a damn, Abigail lay back in the cool grass, watching the brilliant canopy of stars stretching overhead. A tinge of pink was just beginning to creep its way across the horizon, heralding the dawn. Her vision was fading to black; pain and the fact that she simply did not have any energy remaining, finally taking their toll. The last thought that flashed across her mind was:  _Fuck. These things_ really  _stink_. With that, her grip on consciousness was lost and she surrendered to the darkness.

Abigail drifted, not really sure if she was awake or dreaming, she wasn't sure how long she lay there, reality blending in with dreams into one massive blur of pain and disjointed images. Her mouth was hot and dry, her throat painfully burning.

_Water_. Oh how she'd kill for a nice glass of ice cold water right now.

_Actually, scratch that_. How she'd kill for some goddamn medi-gel to make her skin stop feeling like it was slowly being submerged in acid.

Sometimes she saw the Normandy CIC, her crew joking around the ship; then just as quickly she was back on that field in the unknown planet. Other times she relived the final dash for the beam, Harbinger's MHD cutting soldiers apart with methodical ease.

Then sometimes it was Mordin's final words.  _"Has to be me, Shepard …"_

Or Legion's.  _"Does this unit have a soul …? "_

She was so disorientated and delirious that when she began to hear the voices fading in and out above her, at first, she thought it was just a dream.

"… who is she?"

"…the lady is garbed strangely … armour perhaps? I …"

"… by the Valar! The dead orcs! She … slain them all …"

"…mighty feat…"

"…obviously … quite hurt. See … fearsome wounds! Poor … must have died slowly …"

_Died?_  That brought her closer to awareness. If Abigail could have snorted, she would have.  _I'm not goddamn dead yet._  It took every last drop of determination and strength she possessed for her to slowly move her head from side to side. In response, a vicious spike of pain drove through her temples, pounding furiously and she let out a low groan.

"… she yet lives! …"

"… impossible! . . . how …"

"… it matters not! We must take her to the healer … know what to do …"

"… haste … close to death as it is …"

"My lady? My lady, can you hear me?"

A cool hand briefly pressed against her burning cheek and Abigail sighed with relief, savouring the cold touch.

"… ill, wracked by fever …"

"My lady, concentrate on my voice. Do not sleep! You'll not die here, I promise it. Quickly, hand me that cloth …"

Someone jostled her and it was all Abigail could do not to scream out as seemingly every nerve in her body simultaneously fired off in pain. She had the vague feeling of being lifted before she once again lost hold of consciousness and slipped into the soothing oblivion of darkness.


	3. Reveille

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Wow! Again, cheers to everyone who has taken the time to review this story! Very much appreciated! Without further ado ... on with the show!

**Chapter Three**

**Reveille**

***

A shadow flickered against the clear blue sky. A whisper, a fleeting glimpse of a black claw reaching down . . . Suddenly, beams of red fire were sweeping across the city, leveling skyscrapers in seconds, sending them crashing down in great plumes of black dust and smoke. Husks moaned and scrambled around in the ruins, glowing blue implants shining from their ash grey skin, their empty eyes unseeing, devoid of life.

Soldiers valiantly tried to hold the tide of Reaper forces back, but to no avail. An marine fired off his shotgun, vivisecting husks one after the other, black blood disgorging into the air in almost slow motion, before they swarmed him, tearing into his armour like it was made of foil, their claws gouging into flesh . . .

The bark of a sniper rifle cut through the air. Marauders, ravagers and husks were felled before a Reaper destroyer ended it by firing its MHD into the building the sniper was in, sending it tumbling to the ground amidst fiery explosions.

Earth fell as the Reapers descended from the darkness of space, a thousand murderous hands reaching down, bringing with them the end of all.

And she had left them. Run away. Like a coward.

And marines were  _not_  cowards.

The scene around her shifted and she was once more in that bleak forest. Abigail saw the little boy, crouched over in the distance playing with his model Alliance fighter. He saw her and briefly smiled before laughing and running off. She had to save him . . . the Reapers . . . Abigail tired to run but everything had turned sluggish, as if she was walking underwater. She tried to reach out to the child, She was so close . . .

Just as she finally reached him, the little boy turns around, an almost accusing look on his face.  _Why didn't you save me?_  his eyes seemed to ask.  _Why?_

Abigail reached out her hand but the awful blaring of a Reaper shattered the silence and the forest was bathed in crimson light. Crimson like blood . . .

The little boy looks into her eyes as flames begin to lick up his sides, before engulfing him completely.  _Why didn't you save me?_

Then she was back in the Collector base, fighting off a seemingly endless wave of drones. Every now and then, one of the drones would buckle, shake and glow as it was possessed by the Collector general.

"This hurts you." Harbinger's mocking tone echoes through Abigail's mind. "If I must destroy you Shepard, then I will."

Then she was once more on the Citadel, heretic geth swarming through the wards, the distinctive whine of their pulse rifles and the clicks of their chatter cutting through the air. Now it was Sovereign's chilling voice that seems to leech into her very being, making the stars above tremble in fear.

"I am the vanguard of your destruction."

All of a sudden, the Reapers vanished and instead, a gigantic flaming eye filled her vision. An inhuman, guttural voice, filled with an unfathomable level of malice and hatred, spoke.

_"I see you, Shepard."_

***

Abigail woke with a gasp, her heartbeat roaring in her ears, adrenaline surging through her body. Her vision still blurry, she could vaguely make out a dark figure hovering above her. Soldier's instinct kicked in and she brought up her arm protectively over her body, Omni blade appearing in a flash, ready to stab forward or block an incoming blow. A blow that never came.

Her vision focused and she slowly lowered her Omni blade, quickly taking in her environment. She was lying in a cot, alone in a small room. Rough timber walls surrounded her, there were no windows and on the far side of the room, was a door. Overhead the beams of timber supporting the ceiling were visible. Through the gaps in the wall and the sunlight peeking through, she could make out that it was daytime.

A rickety old table sat beside the cot with what looked to be a ceramic jar and mug. Her armour was gone; a fact which momentarily distressed her, until she saw it was piled neatly over by the corner of the room. Presently, she was dressed in a loose, woollen tunic.

It was then Abigail realised that her body was no longer hurting quite as badly as it had before. She noticed that many of her burns and cuts had been wrapped in cloth, with some kind of foul smelling herbal mixture lathered on underneath. Already, she was feeling a hundred times better, her energies replenished. The nanites had done their job then. She still ached however; her muscles and bones sore and heavily bruised. Her throat was parched and her skin still felt hot to the touch, a fever running through her body. It would take several more days before she would fully recuperate. But she was combat ready – albeit barely.

Abigail frowned glancing around the room again. She could have sworn that she had seen someone by her bedside earlier. But the room was empty. Not even any guards, or restraints. So, not a prisoner then. That was good.

Now, where the hell was she?

The door creaked open and she half raised her blade, ready to defend herself, but not being overly aggressive. Whoever had taken her here didn't seem to have made much of an effort to keep her locked up, but it didn't hurt to be cautious.

It turned out to be an old human man standing by the doorway. He had a heavily wrinkled face worn by years of constant sun, but it didn't diminish his bright smile or the twinkle of mischief in his blue eyes. His shoulder length hair was dark brown, liberally streaked with grey and it hung loosely around his face.

Humans? Here?

Puzzled, Abigail deactivated her omniblade. "Hello?" she said, cautiously. Where had she ended up? Perhaps a distant colony from one of the early expeditions? That was a possibility. Although it didn't explain the apparent lack of technology.

"Ah, you are awake, young one," said the old man jovially. If he had been bothered by her omniblade, he didn't let it show. He stepped into the room and brought in with him a large basket covered in cloth. Abigail tensed, eyeing it apprehensively until he removed the cloth to reveal bread and several containers of food. The warm, fragrant aroma wafted into the air, making her stomach grumble loudly. The man laughed and set the basket down on the bedside table talking as he unloaded the food. "It pleases me that you did not pass into the void. Your injuries were quite severe. The healer wasn't sure that you would even live through the night."

"You . . . did this?" asked Abigail, gesturing to the rough bandages covering most of her skin.

The old man tilted his head to the side, "Some of the hunters found you lying in the wilderness, amidst the slain corpses of many foul orcs."

Orcs. So that's what those husk things were called.

The old man continued, "Your wounds were indeed, terrible and grievous. They returned to the village with you, and our healer spent many hours keeping you from slipping into darkness. "

"I . . . thank you, for your kindness, sir," murmured Shepard.

The old man let out a boisterous laugh, "Sir! I haven't been called 'sir' in many seasons, young one. Here, I am simply known as 'Elder'."

"Okay . . . Elder?"

The Elder nodded, before breaking off a piece of bread and handing it over to Abigail. She eagerly devoured it in seconds, sighing in content as solid food hit her stomach for the first time in what felt like several days.

The old man chuckled. "Eat well, young one, for your energies are spent. You must rest. Recover. We will speak more when you are sounder in mind and body." The Elder then gave a slight bow before departing, shuffling out before shutting the door behind him with a small creak.

Making short work of the food, Abigail then turned to the ceramic jug on the table beside her and was surprised to discover that it contained some form of weak beer. Initially, she had been suspicious, thinking they intended to drug her, but pragmatic thinking won out in the end as she realised that this was probably standard fare for these people. Judging by the technology level she observed around her, they were still squarely in the dark ages and so clean water was probably a precious commodity. By fermenting the water into beer, they destroyed any harmful organisms and made it safe to drink.

With this realisation, she greedily gulped down several glasses, nearly emptying the jug. Her hunger sated and her thirst quenched, she lay back down again, closing her eyes, letting herself be tugged back into sleep.

* * *

When Abigail awoke again, it was night. For a moment, she was disorientated.  _What happened? Reapers? Husks? No – they were called 'orcs'. Wait, what? – Oh. Yeah._ She awoke fully, her eyes blinking rapidly to adjust to the darkness. That was when she saw the pair of bright blue eyes staring back down at her.

_Threat!_

She quelled her first instinct to lash out and forced herself to calm down. Upon closer observation, the pair of eyes were not, as she first thought, suspended in the air. They belonged to the form of a little girl – no more than nine – perhaps ten years old who was staring at Abigail with a curious expression on her face.

Abigail slowly, as not to alarm the little girl, sat up on the cot. Glancing around the room revealed that it was only the two of them there.

"Hi there," Abigail said softly to the girl who was now perched on the end of her bed.

The little girl cocked her head to the side, examining the older woman. "Are you an elf?" she asked suddenly.

Abigail blinked, taken aback before frowning. Where had  _that_  come from? "Well," she began, "unless anything else weird has happened since I last checked, I'm pretty sure I'm still human."

The little girl frowned. "Oh. OK then." She then glanced, almost guiltily at the doorway. "Elder says I have to tell him when you are awake." With that, the little girl scampered off, disappearing through the door before Abigail could blink.

Okay…

Abigail decided it was high time she got up. Wincing as her injuries flared up in pain, she slowly got off the cot, her head spinning from vertigo as all the blood rushed to her head. She had been definitely laying down for too long. She stumbled briefly before regaining her balance. Although her legs still felt a little shaky and weak, she was able to walk around the small room several times, strength slowly returning to her limbs.

She went over to the corner where her armour was and inspected the damage. Abigail winced. Most of the breast plate and back plate had been worn down almost to their base meshing, the ceramic alloy all but disintegrated. Her greaves, pauldrons and arm guards fared marginally better with only deep gouges and intensive scorch marks running across the surface. Her boots were a little scuffed and scorched as well, but still functional.

Abigail frowned, thinking hard. Even with her omni tool's fabricator, it would take a lot of raw materials and  _time_  to be able to restore her armour to acceptable working order. Taking another glance at the battered ablative ceramic pads, she amended;  _And a serious new paint job_.

However, she was surprised to see that her bodysuit had survived mostly intact. A few gashes and tears here and there of course, but it would still do its job. She quickly stripped out of the rough hessian dress the locals had garbed her in and shimmied into her bodysuit, the fabric armour welcoming her like a long lost friend. As an afterthought, she put on her boots as well, strapping them on tight. She'd rather not walk around barefoot, thank you very much!

Examining her kinetic barrier emitter, she pulled up a scan with her omni tool was relieved to find only cosmetic damage. Abigail debated with herself for a moment before deciding to detach the emitter from her armour, clipping it and her belt around her waist. At least it would offer her some protection, although from the looks of things, it might not be all that useful in this planet which apparently hadn't even heard of gunpowder.

If they were only using swords and other equivalent basic hand held weapons, her shield wouldn't be able to block them as the barrier only detected objects moving at a fast enough velocity – such as bullets and apparently, arrows. Small comfort. And she couldn't exactly walk around … wherever this was with a bright purple biotic barrier up. That might lead to awkward questions which Abigail would rather avoid.

Heaping the remains of her now useless armour to the side, she spotted the compacted form of her carnifex at the bottom. Bending down, she picked it up and expanded it, checking the clip. Abigail sighed. Two shots left. She needed to modify this – the sooner the better. Although the cool down time would be atrocious, it would be a damn sight better than relying on her biotics for extended periods of time. She risked blowing her implant with that much exertion. For the mean time, she compacted it again and attached it to her belt.

Now, where had that little girl gone? Didn't she say she was going to get the Elder?

A distant crash caught Abigail's attention. She froze, head cocked to the side, the marine in her instantly assessing potential dangers. Her slightly enhanced hearing, courtesy of Cerberus implants, could pick out more distant noise, similar to the clash of metal on metal. Then the screaming began.

Abigail immediately headed over to the door wrenched it open to reveal a small village street, old wooden buildings lining the edges of the dirt road. People dressed in simple medieval clothing were running in panic, shouting and screaming, their faces masks of terror. Adults were carrying their children, who in turn were sobbing in a combination of fear and panic. Cries of "Flee!" and "Orcs!" filled the air.

Abigail zeroed in on that. Orcs? Those husk-like things that had attacked her? Unconsciously, she drew her Carnifex, the weapon expanding in her hand with a small chirp. There was another crash from the end of the street, followed by an enormous roar. More screams rent the air as the remaining townspeople panicked and fled in the opposite direction.

Abigail turned to the source of the sound and felt her blood run cold. There were orcs all right. Lots of them. She quickly scanned their numbers; there were about a dozen, maybe more, all heavily armed and armoured. But what really grabbed her attention was the monstrous behemoth standing in the centre of the formation of orcs. It was as big as a Brute – maybe even bigger. Resembling a bald, leather-skin gorilla, it roared and stomped it humongous feet on the ground with enough force to make the village rattle.

There was a split second of silence before someone cried out, "Troll!"

Abigail clenched her fist.  _Fuck_.

***

Pitch torches burned brightly in the night, the flames flickering madly as the orcs holding them ambled around, screeching. Some had begun to set fire to the village's buildings, the dry wood instantly catching alight. Already, plumes of smoke were rising up into the starry night sky, orange flames burning brightly beneath them.

The troll roared, straining and buckling against the chains attached to the collar around its neck as it tried its best to break loose from its handlers. The unfortunate orcs attempting to restrain it squealed as they were thrown around by the strength of the creature. More orcs had to almost jump on the chains to prevent the troll's premature escape.

The majority of the townspeople had already made it to the far side of the village, and were disappearing into the darkness of the surrounding forest. Abigail was about to turn and follow them when she caught a high pitched scream. Swivelling around, she saw the little girl who had woken her up, standing at the centre of the road, her eyes wide and glued to the horde of incoming orcs. Silhouetted against the burning houses, they made a fearsome sight.

"Come on!" Abigail screamed out. "Move!" But the little girl was petrified, frozen in fear and remained unmoving.  _Shit!_  Abigail's mind instantly flashed to the last child who she couldn't save. The memory of that shuttle being shot to pieces over Vancouver filled her mind's eye.  _Not this time!_

It was at that exact moment that the troll gave a mighty roar and with a twist of its huge body, it wrenched itself free from the hold of the orcs, scattering them through the air and sending them crashing into the ground around it. With a tremendous bellow, it charged down the centre of the village – heading directly at the little girl.

_Oh-Fuck-Fuck-Fuck!_

Abigail bought up her carnifex and quickly taking aim, fired off a round, the heavy pistol barking once and buckling in her hand from the recoil. The round flew through the air with incredible velocity, instantly hitting the troll dead centre, causing a fist sized hole to appear in the leathery flesh of its chest, a cloud of black blood spraying into the air. The enormous creature staggered back, roaring as it flailed its humongous arms around in pain.

Capitalising on its distraction, Abigail wasted no time and sped forward, grabbing the little girl around the waist before turning and running back towards the rest of the fleeing townspeople, compacting her carnifex as she went. But the troll was far from dead. A haze of rage seemed to fall over its eyes and it bellowed as it spotted Abigail's fleeing form, recognising at the one who had inflicted it with so much pain. Blood streaming down its chest, the troll picked itself up and gave chase, using its enormous hands as impromptu feet as it barrelled towards the marine and the little girl with frightening speed.

Glancing back, she Abigail's eyes widened as the troll rapidly ate up the distance between them. She quickly realised that there was no way that they would be able to outrun it and she would couldn't both fight it off and protect the little girl at the same time. They had only seconds . . .

She only had one choice.

Abigail put the little girl on the ground, shouting out: "Run!" The little girl scrambled off, stumbling slightly, but not before shooting Abigail a fearful look.

"Go!" the woman roared. The little girl hesitated before sprinting away as fast as her short legs could carry her. Already one of the village women had seen what was happening and was running back, making her was towards the little girl. Her safety assured, Abigail turned back to the charging troll, now only scant metres away.

The marine's face was blank, almost stoic. Her green eyes were hard and deadly, burning with a fire of determination that had bought down everything from geth colossi to collector praetorians, thresher maws to Reapers. Any other sane living creature in the universe would have instantly understood that when Commander Shepard gave you  _that_  look, things were about to go very, very bad for you. Unfortunately for the troll, it was not in any way what could be described as  _sane_. It remained on its path, intending to plough into Abigail and pound her into a smear on the ground. At least, that was the theory.

So it was to the troll's compete surprise when the N7 marine began to glow, an aura of pale blue flames coming to life over her body. Abigail gathered the dark energy around her, coalescing it into an intensely compacted envelope like she had done hundreds of times before. She pulled a savage grin at the incoming troll and released all the energy with a loud shout. She was propelled forward in a stream of mass-less space, a split second later exploding out of her biotic charge directly in front of the troll and sending the creature staggering back as she slammed the point of her shoulder into its sternum, the temporary barrier she had created in front of her soaking up the impact damage.

The world seemed to slow down for Abigail as she came out of the charge, giving her the time to both activate her omni blade and draw her Carnifex. The troll's mouth was open in a roar as Abigail stabbed up with the silicon carbide blade, sinking it deep into the troll's eye. At the same time, she bought up her carnifex and jabbed it into the centre of the troll's twisted face, yanking the trigger and firing her last round. A spurt of black blood exploded from its face at the same time that her omni blade sunk deep into its head, both the blade and the bullet penetrating the brain and instantly killing the troll. It remained standing for a moment, almost as if its body couldn't believe it was dead, before slowly falling backwards onto the ground with a heavy thud, Abigail crouched on its chest, anchored by her omni blade in its head.

There was silence from the assembled orcs as they all beheld Abigail slowly standing up, her armoured bodysuit drenched in troll blood. She compacted her pistol and hopped off the corpse of the now faceless troll, landing on her feet and looking up; her features alight with a fierce viciousness. Already, biotics were again beginning to crackle around her body. She lifted a hand wreathed in blue fire and made a come-hither motion at the orcs.

"Who's next?" she growled.

The horde of orcs seemed to take that as their signal. This bunch was marginally more intelligent than the previous ones she had fought, Abigail thought. Instead of rushing her one by one, they attacked as one group, attempting to swarm and overwhelm her with sheer numbers. But unfortunately for them, if there was one thing biotics were extremely proficient at, it was crowd control.

Abigail grinned and let loose a powerful shockwave directly at the incoming orcs. The pulsating biotic wave slammed into them, swatting them aside like a fiery blue freight train and sending them flying through the air and crashing painfully on to the ground.

Abigail was moving a second later, summoning another charge; she leapt forward, crossing the remaining distance between her and the fallen orcs in the blink of an eye. As she exited her charge, the marine drew her fist back and just as the dazed orcs were attempting to regain their footing; Abigail slammed her fist into the ground, channelling all the energy from her barrier into one gigantic nova blast that smashed through the orcs, the intensely pressurised wave pulverising many of them in their armour, leaving nothing behind but a pulpy, bloody mess.

Breathing hard, Abigail stood slowly, surveying the devastation around her. Illuminated by the flickering flames from the burning buildings behind her, and with black blood dripping from her fabric armour and her glowing omni blade protruding from her hand; to anyone watching, she would have looked like a demon of death.

Some distance away, an orc who was still alive was trying to regain its footing. Abigail saw its movement and without a second thought, fired of a biotic pull, yanking the now weightless and immobile orc through the air towards her. As it came closer, she drew back her arm, clenching her hand into a fist and summoning biotic energy around it with a building crackle. Increasing the mass of her hand tenfold, she punched forward, smashing her glowing fist into the unfortunate orc, which was instantly crushed and blown back to the ground, tumbling around lifelessly as she extinguished the pull.

Adrenaline coursing through her veins and her heart thudding loudly, Abigail took deep, shuddering breaths, all of a sudden feeling light headed and dizzy as the heat of the battle quickly wore off and the full might of her injuries returned. She had to fight not to vomit right there and then as her recent meal threatened to make an unwelcome re-appearance. She was acutely familiar with the symptoms of biotic exhaustion and Abigail knew that she needed food and drink, preferably high in sugar and calories in order to replenish her expended energy.

Abigail turned around, staggering slightly, weaving like a drunkard as she walked back towards the centre of the village. Already several of the townspeople had gathered around the dead troll, gasping and exclaiming as they pointed to its gouged out face. Then they saw her. One of the men shouted, pointing at her, obviously seeing her exhausted state. The rest of the villages rushed forward, grabbing hold of Abigail to support her as she slumped and wavered, threatening to fall face first onto the dirt.

"Milady! Where are your injured?" asked one of the villages in concern.

"She slaughtered those orcs like cattle!" exclaimed another man, staring at Abigail with unabashed wonder.

A woman garbed in a leaf green dress made her way forward, a kind look on her face. "We must get you to a healer," she said softly. Turning to the two men keeping Abigail upright, she beckoned at them. "Come, bring her over . . . gently! Gently!" Both men supported her, draping Abigail's arms across their shoulders as they began to make their way down the village. More and more people were appearing, having heard that the orcs were no more. Many openly gawked at Abigail – and more importantly at the blood covering her. Hushed whispers began to break out across the villagers.

"M' fine," Abigail slurred, "Just . . . tired. Biotic exhaustion, see," she said to the man to her left. The man just nodded, having no idea what she meant.

"Did using your magic tire you out, madam?" he asked.

_Magic? Oh – yeah. Biotics would seem like some pretty wild shit to them._

"That's one way to put it," grunted Abigail as she stumbled over a pothole on the dirt road, her legs feeling like limp noodles. Too much energy spent – Chakwas would be rolling her eyes in exasperation. That is, if she was even still alive. That thought sobered her up quickly. If  _any_  of them were even still alive. Abigail gritted her teeth. It further re-enforced that she had to get back to them, as soon as physically possible. For all she knew, the Crucible could have failed – the war could still be going.  _But for how much longer?_  And here she was, taken out of the fight and stuck in some backwater planet that was still firmly in the middle ages.  _Wonderful._

"Make way! Make way!" The voice of an old man parted the crowd and the Elder strode forward, concern upon his face. "Milady," he scolded, "You should now have been standing, let alone fighting orcs! Your injuries are still fresh. Come, we must get you to rest."

"I'm fine," repeated Abigail, touched by their worry. "I wasn't even hurt." She held up a hand, "See? Not a scratch. Well, apart from the blood and all – but that's not mine, so don't worry."

The Elder placed a worn hand on her shoulder, ignoring the black troll blood that covered it. "Nevertheless, your previous wounds have not completely healed." He smiled gently. "Your bravery was unquestionable. Were it not for your heroic actions, those orcs would have certainly slaughtered us. We are in your debt."

Murmurs of agreement were echoed by the crowd.

Eventually, they reached a small hut and after entering, Abigail realised that it was the room she had woken up on. The men left with a small bow, leaving the Elder alone with her. Guiding her to the bed, the Elder motioned her to sit. "Some of the women will assist you in bathing – if that is your wish," he said. "I will return later with more food. Please – stay still until the healer can assess your injuries." He lit a candle, leaving it by her bedside table; gave her a small smile, and then left, presumably to assess the damage to his village.

Alone again, Abigail examined her fabric armour, wrinkling her nose at the foul stench the troll blood gave off. Outside, it hadn't been too bad as the fresh air had taken the brunt of the smell but in a confined space, there was no escape. She quickly peeled off the skin suit and her armoured boots, grimacing slightly in pain as her wounds stretched and tossed them onto the hard wooden floor in the far corner of the room. She'd clean the grime and blood off them later. She just hoped that the smell could be cleaned off too; otherwise her foreseeable future would become . . . interesting, aroma-wise.

There was a hesitant knock on the door. "Come in!" called out Abigail, throwing down her last blood-soaked glove. The door creaked open to reveal two women with clothes and carrying a bucket of water, who immediately gasped when they saw her. Abigail glanced at down at herself to see what they had found so alarming and immediately understood. She was clad only in her underwear, but more importantly, it revealed the full extent of her injuries. In the darkness, the glowing orange scars that criss-crossed her chest, abdomen, shoulders – practically every inch of her skin, were even more prominent. Although the edges were slowly fading, the nanites still had a long way to go, and even though she had long gotten used to seeing the cybernetic implants, to these people, it would be beyond their understanding.

"Hey, relax," Abigail said, making a placating hand gesture at the women who continued to stare, horrified, at her glowing wounds. She gestured at her body, "Seriously, it's fine. It'll heal."

The woman on the left shook her head, her black hair shimmering in the candlelight, seemingly to focus herself although her eyes still occasionally strayed onto Abigail's injuries. She held up a cloth. "The Elder said that you might require assistance in bathing," she murmured, her companion nodding.

Abigail hesitated, noting how they seemed nervous and avoided meeting her eyes, before giving them a small smile. "It's okay, just leave them here. I can manage. Thank you, though."

The women nodded, placing the cloths and buckets by the doorway. Although they were far too polite to say it out loud, it was clear to Abigail that they were relieved. Honestly, she couldn't blame them. She herself thought that those cybernetic implants were weird and she lived in a society that could clone replacement organs and perform synthetic grafting surgery. To these people, she would be beyond weird – and terrifying. The way she had so brutally slaughtered those orcs probably didn't help her paragon image, either.

The woman on the left hesitated by the door, before turning back to Abigail. Although the apprehension was still there, it was joined by a look of gratitude shining through her eyes.

"Thank you milady," the woman whispered, "for saving my daughter."

Abigail froze, before nodding softly. "How is she?"

The woman shifted, "She is – scared, although unharmed." She finally looked up, meeting Abigail's gaze. "You are in my family's eternal debt. Those orcs . . . were it not for your actions . . ." The woman broke off, shuddering as the very idea of her what might have happened to her daughter overwhelmed her. Abigail rose to her feet and made her way over to the women, placing her hand on the mother's shoulder. The woman stiffened slightly, before relaxing again.

"Hey," Abigail said, "She's fine. You're fine. Those orcs are gone; you have nothing left to worry about."

"Thank you milady," said the mother, "If there is anything you require, please do not hesitate to let us know." Abigail nodded, giving her a smile before backing off.

The mother paused, "And one other thing . . . I would like to know the name of the woman who saved my daughter." A slightly panicked look crossed her face. "That is, if you are willing to share –"

"No, no, it's fine," Abigail interrupted her. "It's . . . Shepard. My name, that is."

The mother bowed her head. "Thank you, Lady Shepard," she said before turning and beckoning to the other woman. They both departed, swinging the door shut behind them.

Abigail sat back on the bed, absently rubbing her now sore shoulder. Those trolls were tough sons-of-bitches! Especially their bones.

That little girl, the gratitude her mother had given her – all reminded Abigail of what she fought so hard for. So that children like that girl could live for a new future.

_A future free from the Reapers,_ whispered a voice in her head. Abigail clenched her fist. It grated on her, that she didn't know what had happened. If the war had truly ended. If anything she had done really had mattered, in the grand scheme of things. So many dead . . . Thessia's fall came to mind, along with the knowledge that if she had just been a little bit stronger, a little bit faster, she could have prevented so much more pain and suffering.

But that little girl . . . she had reminded her, that was what she fought for. Never mind grandiose notions of saving the galaxy, she had fought so hard, bled so much for the people she cared about; her team, her crew, her friends. And to not know if they were even alive . . .

Abigail sighed. Thoughts like that were not going to help her here. Wherever she had ended up, she'd need to assess the situation, get as much information as she could and hopefully, find a way back _._

_If there was even a galaxy to go back to._

No – not thinking like that, Abigail berated herself. She couldn't afford to wallow in self-pity. This place was obviously filled with unknowns and dangers – like those orcs; dangers that she would have to face again if she had any hope of surviving long enough to get a distress beacon going.

Abigail lay back on the cot, extinguishing the candle; closing her eyes and letting sleep take her. She'd worry about that in the morning. In the darkness, as she drifted off into sleep, a fragment of a dream came haunting back to her: a flaming eye, a guttural voice filled with cold fury and hate.

" _I see you, Shepard."_


	4. New Circumstances

Abigail awoke the next day to the smell of freshly baked bread wafting through the door of her small hut. Yawning, she rose and after the cursory examination of her healing scars, hunted around for the hessian dress that she had been wearing before. While she yearned to be back in her armour, the stench of the troll's blood well and thoroughly prevented that. Another whiff told her that she also badly needed a shower. The last time that she had washed was on the Normandy before the final battle to take Earth back – which had been close to three days ago. It went without saying that she was rather . . . ripe.

She ran her hands through her dirty blonde hair, attempting to smooth down the unruly mess and more importantly, dislodge any remaining dirt and caked blood before padding barefoot over to the doorway. She almost reached out for her carnifex before remembering that without thermal clips or re-modifications, it was useless. Abigail scowled. If anything else happened, she'd have to rely purely on her omnitool and biotics. Which would have been fine normally, but in her exhausted and wounded state, it could prove highly dangerous, as last night had attested.

Realising that she was still barefoot, Abigail searched the room and discovered a pair of soft leather shoes underneath the bed. Although too big for her, she wore them anyway to save her feet from any more injuries. Abigail opened the door with a slight creak and found the woman from the night before – the mother, standing in front of the door with her hand poised to knock. Abigail gave her a warm smile. "Hi." 

Surprise flashed across the mother's face and she hastily lowered her hand. "Oh, Lady Shepard – I am sorry. I was about to check on you. Your wounds look . . . better. How are you feeling?"

"Don't worry, I'm fine," Abigail reassured the mother before stepping past her and out into the street, squinting slightly as her eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight.

The mother came up to her. "Lady Shepard, if you would follow me," she said. "Some of the women have taken the liberty of finding you more . . ." her eyes flickered disapprovingly to the rough hessian dress Abigail was wearing, "– appropriate clothing. The blacksmith has also provided you with a simple set of armour. I'm afraid it is not to the quality of your previous set – but it is the best we have."

Abigail thanked her profusely.

The mother turned to go, but hesitated, her hands wringing the folds of her dress. "Also," she began with slight trepidation, "my daughter would like to meet you. To thank you personally. If that is acceptable . . . ?"

"Of course," Abigail said. "I'd love to meet her."

The mother led Abigail through the village. It was much smaller in daylight, she realised, around two dozen wooden buildings grouped around a central square. Apart from the odd building scattered further out, it seemed like the village was a spot of civilization in otherwise wild surroundings. A thin forest bordered the grassy clearing the village stood in, to one side a small stream gurgled and further out, peeking through the tree line, Abigail could make out the hazy mountains she had seen when she first arrived. Now that she could actually see them properly, she realised that they were thoroughly majestic, rising up into snow-capped peaks.

They passed an assortment of shops and stalls as well as several houses including the one she had just left. Over by the opposite side of the village were the charred remains of a house, the only thing remaining standing were the occasional support beam, blackened and crumbling. The corpses of the orcs and the troll were no more, probably dragged out of sight and burned. Sure enough, Abigail caught sight of a column of smoke rising through the trees some distance away.

Many villagers walked around in clothes that to Abigail wouldn't have looked out of place in a museum. All of them stopped and stared at her as she made her way past, shooting her looks of wariness and awe in equal measure. It hit Abigail fully just how . . . _medieval_ these people were – around the Bronze Age technologically perhaps? The thought occurred to her; was the rest of this planet like this? If so, then getting back home would be a smidge more difficult than she had originally planned.

The mother directed Abigail into a building where she was handed a bundle of clothing and then show to another room to get changed. She was delighted to find a fresh pair of dark brown trousers and a simple white shirt, cut in an obviously male style. The shirt was a little big, but it fit well enough. Abigail also discovered a pair of what seemed to be the medieval version of underwear. Although somewhat rough, she was thankful nonetheless. Finally a set of woollen socks, a pair of sturdy leather boots and a wide belt, clinched at her waist, finished off her ensemble. She examined herself; all in all, it wasn't too bad. The fabrics were a little scratchier than she was used to, but it wouldn't be anything more than a cursory bother.

Abigail placed her worn hessian dress into the now empty bag and stepped out of the room. She was immediately whisked off to a table and provided with a simple, but hearty breakfast of fresh baked bread, warm porridge and fruit, all washed down by an incredibly bitter but refreshing coffee. Abigail wolfed down everything and took second and third helpings, much to the delight of the women. Her biotic constitution was akin to a blast furnace necessitating a greater than average diet and with her various other injuries, her body was making up for lost time.

After she finished eating and thanking the cooks, the mother took Abigail to the sole stone building in the village, an open area at the front – obviously a workshop of some sort. It was dark inside, but not in a gloomy sort of way, rather it seemed like a warm, welcoming cave. Candles burned on thick, worn wooden tables and in the back of the room a small furnace burned fiercely. The air was filled with the scent of burnt wood and the unmistakable tang of metal. Hanging on hooks and laying on racks on the walls was an incredible assortment of implements, from cutlery to farming equipment all the way to swords and shields.

They were greeted by a large, beefy man with a heavily scarred face, which didn't diminish his brilliant smile. Rich brown eyes held a softness within them that seemed out of place with his massive body. The mother introduced him as the village blacksmith and Abigail gladly shook his calloused and burnt hand. The blacksmith led Abigail to the back of the building and after scrounging around of several minutes, produced a set of leather and chainmail armour, handing it to her with a proud flourish and explaining that he had made it himself.

Highly polished, the hard black leather reflected the flickering flames of the forge behind them. It consisted of a cuirass, greaves, vambraces, thigh guards and, gloves all attached to the body with buckled straps. Underneath the thick, hardened leather was a single layer of rough chainmail providing additional protection.

"Thank you very much," said Abigail who had immediately adored it, almost cooing over it as she gently caressed the armour with something akin to love. The blacksmith had seen the look in her eyes and given a deep, belly laugh as he seemed to recognise a kindred spirit within her.

"Look after her well, and she'll not let you down," he said gruffly before farewelling them and turning back to his work.

She added her new armour to her bag and quickly made her way over to the small hut she had been sleeping in and dropped it off before following the mother to meet her child – the child Abigail had saved the night before.

The mother led Abigail through to the other end of the village where there was a grassy field, several cows and sheep grazing peacefully. Running around and squealing delightedly were a group of children. The mother whistled to get their attention and waved at a little girl who immediately detached herself from her friends and scampered towards her mother.

Abigail recognised her as the girl that had been staring at her when she had woken up and later saved from the troll. The little girl saw her as she got closer and her face broke out into a huge smile. She ran towards Abigail and enveloped the older woman in a hug. Taken by surprise, Abigail fumbled for a moment before kneeling down so she was at the same level as the child and returning the hug.

"Thank you," whispered the little girl in her ear, before planting a wet kiss on her cheek, undaunted by the criss-crossing orange scars and detaching herself from Abigail, giving her mother a quick wave and then running back to her friends.

"She's beautiful," said Abigail to the mother as she stood up. "What's her name?"

The mother smiled. "Amelia." They both watched as Amelia and her friends ran around the field laughing and squealing and generally enjoying being kids with not a worry in the world. The mother's smile briefly flattered, a look of grief flashing through her face. "And she is all that I have left," she whispered.

Abigail moved closer, placing a comforting hand on the mother's shoulder. "What happened?" she asked softly.

The mother blinked back tears. "Orcs," she said bitterly. "Ever since two summers ago, more and more of them roam the plains. It is no longer safe for us here – but where can we go? This is our home." She sniffed. "My husband was one of the few in the village who could use a spear and a sword. He was killed four moons ago, defending us from an attack."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Abigail said, knowing full well that empty platitudes would do very little to ease the pain of the departed.

"Thank you," the mother whispered. She took a deep breath and continued. "Two moons ago my son, he –" she stopped, a choked sob escaping her throat. "H-h-e-he was . . . taken by an orc raiding party. We never saw him again." She looked over towards where Amelia was playing. "She takes it well," the mother said, her voice tinged with sorrow. "She pretends like all is well. But I hear her cry at night, calling her brother's name." The mother shook her head despondently, meeting Abigail's gaze, her eyes haunted with sorrow. "These are dark times we live in, Lady Shepard. There is foul evil in the air."

Abigail's stomach lurched. She definitely _did not_ like the sound of that.

The mother turned back towards her daughter in the distance, a pensive look of gloom on her worn face. "And I fear it will only grow worse," she whispered.

Three days later, Abigail was sufficiently rested to feel good enough to resume her exercise regime. Although some lingering soreness still remained in her muscles, the nanites had done a near miraculous job in restoring her health. Most of her orange cybernetic scars had faded away, leaving only faint outlines to ever suggest they were there. Still, push ups and sit ups easily tired her and running was something of a chore, her stomach stinging painfully if she over exerted herself. Sill a long way to go, it seemed.

She had spent her time in the village in an almost perpetual state of relaxation. The villagers seemed intent on showering her with food and gifts. Although they were rather basic and nothing extravagant, Abigail was nevertheless extremely thankful for the donations of clothes and other important materials such as a waterskin, a small, but good quality hunting knife and a sturdy pack to carry her (admittedly) meagre possessions.

The Elder had visited her many times, often talking with her for hours about this new world she had found herself in. The more and more he told her about "Middle Earth," the more anxious Abigail had become. Magic? Dwarves? Elves? It sounded like something out of a bad fantasy vid. However, the Elder never once asked her where she was from and Abigail didn't volunteer any information. Besides, how exactly could she explain to a pre-space flight society about the galaxy, the Council and, heck – the reapers? But the Elder held a twinkle in his eyes, almost as if he suspected her origins and remained mute on the topic.

Abigail had also been busy repairing her N7 armour and modifying her carnifex to a pre-thermal clip specification. Using the inbuilt miniature fabricator on her omnitool and raw chunks of refined ore gifted to her from the blacksmith, she had created patches for her fabric armour skinsuit which more or less took care of the gashes and holes – it wasn't by any means pretty, looking closer to a patchwork quilt than a sophisticated piece of armour, but it would be sufficient for combat.

Her plate armour was another matter entirely. The problem was that unlike the fabric skinsuit, there was just too much of it destroyed. At its current state, it would be more cost effective to create a new set from scratch rather than fix it. And it would require raw elements – most likely pure carbon, or in simpler terms – diamonds – and lots of them. Needless to say, while precious gems were a dime-a-dozen back home, the chances of her coming across the quantity she needed here were slim to none.

So Abigail decided that since fixing it was currently impossible, she'd just have to rely on the black leather armour the blacksmith had given her. When worn over her fabric armour, it would provide an adequate level of protection from the threats she might face in this world. Since she didn't have to worry about bullets travelling at close to light speed, Abigail figured that she would survive. She also clipped her belt around her waist as attached with it was her kinetic barrier emitter. Although ineffective against melee weapons it had proved sufficient against arrows, and with a little tweaking, she managed to lower the velocity requirement for the barrier to activate, making it doubly effective.

She packed away her N7 armour with a pang of regret. She and that armour had been through so much – it had saved her life more times that she could count. It felt like she was parting with a dear old friend. But as a marine – and a spectre, change was something she was intricately familiar with as well. Suddenly and idea struck her. Grinning, Abigail carefully cut out the scuffed, but otherwise unharmed 'N7' insignia from her armour plate and fused it to the breast of her new black leather armour. She nodded. It felt wrong to not display her rank. It was tradition and more to the point – she had worked damn hard to get where she had and wearing the N7 badge proved to others and more importantly – to herself what she was capable of.

Finally her Carnifex. She had stared at her battered and dented gun for a long time, puzzling on how to begin modifying it. As these models were designed with disposable thermal clips in mind, the inbuilt heat sink was a lot smaller than the original, Mark. 1 guns she had used in training. In theory, she knew how to take just about any weapon apart and put it together again plus minor adaptations and modifications, but this called for an almost complete re-assembling of the whole weapon.

Abigail began with removing the thermal clip ports and attempting to re-route the cooling vents to fully lead to the inbuilt heat sink. Several times, she had to use her omniblade to cut apart the metal components and then fabricate entirely new pieces. After several hours of painstaking labour, she finally replaced the outer shell and examined her handiwork. The upgraded carnifex was leaner than the original – and hopefully, just as mean. The addition of an iron sight would compensate for not having her helmet's targeting reticule.

However, there were several drawbacks to the Mark. 2. For one thing, she would no longer be able to fully compact the pistol, as she had to replace the vent paths and the shape of the stock. Also the weapon would no longer fire as quickly as it did before, perhaps managing only three or four shots before having to vent as opposed to the original six. Small drawbacks, Abigail considered, compared to having a powerful and accurate ranged weapon that could kill trolls in one hit. In a world where the main threat would likely come from melee enemies, being able to blow them apart from a distance would be an enormous advantage.

Abigail had taken to wearing her armour wherever she went, her carnifex clipped to the side. Although drawing some odd looks from the village residents, she felt more comfortable and more ready to respond to any threat. And after the Amelia's mother had told her about the increasing frequency of orc raids, Abigail has taken it upon herself to maintain constant patrols of the village borders, always alert for any possible dangers that could prove harmful to the village. She would often be out late at night, a sentry in the darkness. She felt like she at least owed it to these people who had taken her in and given her food and shelter. And besides, she was beginning to love the village and its quiet, relaxed atmosphere and the friendly residents.

Another reason for her late night patrols revolved around avoiding sleep as much as she possibly could. Nightmares were an old companion to a soldier who had seen – and done, the things Abigail had. Death was her art, but the consequences were equally as destructive. Her nightmares were filled with the screams of the dying, the rivers of blood from the wounded, and the cold, hollow eyes of the dead, almost always shadowed by the hulking forms of the reapers and that horrible blearing sound that heralded doom. Often interwoven through these dreams were the unknown fates of her crew. It was eating at her not knowing if they had survived, if they had made it. Naturally, lots of time alone gave her space to think, although it wasn't always the nicest thoughts that filled her mind.

Perhaps they were now holding a funeral for her. A large, sombre affair filled with plenty of very important politicians saying meaningless things about a hero who they had never met. An empty casket would be presided over by her friends and buried in an appropriately stuffy old cemetery while the taps were played and an Alliance flag was draped over her coffin . . . Abigail took a deep breath shook her head. 'What-ifs' could destroy her, she knew. Better to focus on something she could do right now, like help protect these people who at the moment, needed her help – help she would gladly give.

About a week in on her stay in the village, Abigail was leaning against a tree on the outskirts of the forest, armour on and arms crossed over her chest while she periodically swept the plains in front of her, checking for any suspicious movement in the darkness. There was a rustle of undergrowth behind her before a voice spoke.

"It is a beautiful night."

Abigail whipped around, hand on the grip of her Carnifex, before relaxing as the Elder stepped out of the forest garbed in a long brown robe.

"Elder," she acknowledged. The old man took up a position beside her, his hands in his pockets and looking almost like a little boy as he gazed with unabashed wonder at the heavens sprawled overhead.

"I have always wondered what secrets the stars hold," he began. Abigail tensed, unsure of where the Elder was going. He turned towards her and flashed a half smile, his eyes twinkling like the stars above. "But then again," he said "you would know all about such things, hmm?"

Abigail stared at him. "How did you –"

The Elder waved a hand at her. "I'm old – not stupid," he said with a laugh. "And besides, I did not know for sure, but your reaction was the final proof."

Abigail blushed at being given away so easily. The Elder continued to examine the stars. "So there are other worlds in the heavens," he said. It wasn't a question.

Abigail nodded. "Many."

"Man?"

"Yes. Also other species."

The Elder smiled. "Ah." He turned to her. "I assume then, that you wish to return to your . . . world?"

Abigail nodded. "But I have no idea how to get back," she said glumly. "You guys don't exactly have space flight yet." _And by the time it's ever invented here, I'll be long dead_ , she added in her head.

The Elder looked thoughtful. "If anyone would be able to help you, it would be the elves," he said after a long pause. "Yes, yes – the elves would find a way."

Abigail's mind was buzzing. According to the Elder, the elves were immensely proud and powerful immortal beings. "And where can I find them?" she asked.

"Alas," said the Elder, "the elves' power weans and soon, they will be no more." At Abigail's crestfallen expression, the Elder hastened to add, "Some still reside in Middle Earth, in safe havens for their kind. They are usually welcoming to those who mean them no harm – this, I can attest to personally."

"You've met elves?" asked Abigail.

The Elder nodded; a faraway look in his eyes. "Many years ago," he said wistfully. He suddenly shook his head, snapping out of his reverie. "Come now," he said briskly. "The hour grows late. And as noble as your efforts to protect us are, you still need rest. Come along, we shall speak on more of this in the morn."

Abigail followed the Elder back towards the village, all the while deep in thought. If she could somehow get to these elves, then perhaps – there was the slimmest chance – she could figure out a way to get off this planet – or at the very least get a long range distress beacon activated. She fought off a yawn. Right now though, rest sounded very good.

As they walked into the village, Abigail felt a tingling on the back of her neck – almost like she was being watched. Years of battle had thought her to trust her instincts and she immediately spun around, pistol raised and at the ready. But there was nothing, save for the occasional chirp of crickets and the faint rustle of leaves in the wind. She still couldn't shake the feeling that there was _something_ there.

The Elder had noticed her and seeing her carnifex sun-holstered, his eyes widened and he scrambled back towards her. "Is anything the matter?" he asked urgently. "Orcs?"

Abigail hesitated and then shook her head, her eyes still trying to pierce the curtain of the night to no avail. "No. Nothing," she said eventually, chalking it up to paranoia. With one last glance back, she headed towards the village with the Elder.

* * *

On a distant hill, sitting atop a monstrous looking black horse, a figure sniffed the air. Its long black cloak made it almost invisible, blending in with the darkness. A cowl was pulled low over its head, obscuring its face, although were anyone to actually to look underneath, they would find nothing but mist and shadow. Wicked looking gauntlets jerked the reins of the horse, leading it on the opposite direction, heavy hoof beats thundering along.

The Nazgul let out a piercing screech into the night air, alerting its brethren. Their master needed to know.

The Shepard was here.


	5. The Road to the Hidden Valley

 After a fitful night's sleep plagued with nightmares, Abigail rose early, well before sunrise. Although she had enjoyed the quiet charm of the small village, knowing that there was even a chance – no matter how slim – that she could somehow get back home meant that she had to at least try.

If not only to know that her crew – her friends had made it through, but also if the unthinkable had occurred and the crucible had somehow misfired. If that was truly the case, then right now the reapers could be well on their way to annihilating the rest of the galaxy. And she couldn't let that happen. Not after everything she had accomplished. To be thwarted after getting so close to the end . . .

Abigail sighed, busying herself with cleaning her Carnifex, running diagnostics on her omni-tool and her oiling her leather armour, ensuring that everything was in perfect working condition. Knowing her luck – and the fact that Middle Earth seemed to be awash with monsters – she would undoubtedly run into trouble of the violent sort – again. Several hours later, there was a knock on her door. Getting up, she opened it to reveal the mother and the Elder.

Biding them a 'good morning,' she gestured for them to enter; holding open the door while the mother carried in a large, pack of supplies while the Elder brought with him a sturdy wooden walking stick.

The mother placed the bag on the bed and began unpacking it, laying out several changes of clothes, packets of food wrapped in oilskin, extra containers of water, a thick woollen cloak with a hood, and a sleeping roll; arranging all the items across the bed. Then she stepped aside as the Elder came forward, taking from his pocket a worn piece of folded paper and handing it to Abigail.

"You will need this," he said. Abigail opened the paper up, revealing it to be a map of Middle Earth, delicately penned and the names of various places meticulously labelled. Foreign sounding words like 'Rohan,' 'Gondor,' and 'Mordor,' popped out at her. The Elder then placed his finger on a small dot bordered by forest, north of some place called 'The Shire'.

"This is our village," he said. Moving his finger south-east, following a mountain range, he brought it to another dot further down, labelled 'Rivendell.'

"Rivendell," breathed Abigail.

The Elder nodded. "The Last Homely House – also known as _Imladris_ in elvish." He tapped the dot. "There you must go for the answers that you seek."

Her eyes flickered around the map, searching for a scale. Finding none, she turned to the Elder. "How far is it?"

"Two weeks by foot," he replied. A dark look crossed his face. "The roads to the Hidden Valley are no longer safe as they once were. You must be careful," he cautioned. "Although your prowess in battle is formidable – never underestimate enemies that you might encounter. Goblins, orcs, trolls, bandits – and an all manner of foul beasts roam the plains. These are indeed, dark times we live in."

He handed her the walking stick, the polished wood cool to the touch. "This has served me well in past adventures. May it do so to you."

"I – thank you," said Abigail. "Really, for everything." She directed it to the mother standing by the doorway as well. Both smiled, tilting their heads in welcome.

The Elder beckoned to the mother. "Come," he said. "Her road is long. Let us leave Lady Shepard to prepare for her journey." Together they left the small hut, the door swinging shut behind them.

Abigail glanced down at the map in her hands, the tiny ink letters spelling out her destination – and her only possible hope, dark against the yellowed parchment.

 _Rivendell_.

Abigail took a deep breath.

_Here we go._

* * *

An hour later, she was ready. Her equipment and supplies stowed in her pack, her armour strapped on underneath her cloak, and her new walking stick in hand, Abigail stepped out of the hut. It was dawn and towards the east, the sun was just beginning to spill over the tips of the trees, bathing the small homes and buildings in a fiery orange light.

Her eyes widened as she took in the mass of people in the centre of the village. At what seemed close to two hundred men, women and children, all garbed in their nicest attire – it seemed like the entire town had gathered for her departure. In the front of the throng was the Elder, the mother and little Amelia. Abigail made her way over, returning the smiles and waves from the various townspeople.

Amelia rushed forward and handed Abigail a small rose, the bright red flower just beginning to bloom.

Abigail smiled, touched by the gesture. "Thank you," she murmured. Amelia merely grinned shyly and scampered off back to her mother.

The Elder spoke up. "On behalf of all of us, I thank you Lady Shepard, for aiding us in our time of need. Without you, our homes would not be standing today. We are eternally in your debt. We wish you a swift and safe journey." The Elder then leaned forward, his eyes twinkling, and continued in a slightly lowered tone. "And may you find that which you seek."

Abigail felt her lips twitch upwards and gave a grateful nod directed at all the gathered villagers, striving to meet the eyes of as many of them as she could.

"Thank you," she said.

Taking one last look at the village and its people – and wondering if she would ever see them again, Abigail turned around walked away until she was swallowed the forest.

The days passed quickly as she made her way through the landscape of Middle Earth. Abigail hiked from sunrise to sunset, oftentimes stopping only to take a quick bite and a swig of water before pressing on. She marched through plains and woodland, across rivers and streams and through dense craggy hills. Her projected path would take her east towards the distant Misty Mountains, then south, following the mountain range until she (supposedly) arrived at Rivendell.

For the most part she was alone, only sighting the occasional animal. Deer were common, bounding through the undergrowth. Birds too – although some were species that Abigail had never seen before.

But mostly, the time alone she spent thinking. Allowing her mind to drift to the war was always risky – not knowing its outcome gnawed on the edge of her mind. She would often play events over and over in her head, wondering if only she had been a little bit faster, a little bit stronger. If she had done things differently – managed to get the Council to act earlier. Perhaps so much could have been avoided.

Memories of seeing Earth and Palaven burn were etched into her mind, the hulking, insect like forms of the Reapers that spelled death to any that saw them, silhouetted against the blood red sky.

She mostly caught herself before she sunk in too deep, and to help keep herself distracted, Abigail spend the days tinkering with her omni-tool. It had belatedly occurred to her that she had never really explored it in depth. Sure – she knew the basic, essential functions – more even, as the military tended to stress the use omni tools as additional weapons. But it's more eclectic, specialised functions had always remained an elusive mystery – one that she had now resolved to fix.

She didn't know how long she would go before managing to get out of here, so it made sense to give herself every weapon that she could.

Hours of studying her omni tool allowed Abigail to hash out a series of fairly rough 'assault' programs, like those that she had seen Tali and Garrus use through the years. Although not exactly a great engineer herself, it wasn't actually all that difficult, merely requiring enormous amounts of patience and perseverance.

Even though it was beyond her to make more complex programs like a Combat Drone, or Sabotage burst, she had managed a low-level Overload. As it was, it wouldn't have enough power to kill, but it could come in handy as a non-lethal alternative, should it ever be required.

She had also managed to create an extremely unstable Incinerate, which unfortunately, half the time tended to explode before it reached its target. It would be useful however as it didn't require ammunition and could be fired as much as she liked and thus presenting a reasonable alternative to her biotics.

All in all, she was rather proud of her achievements, considering it was never part of her training – she was a biotic combat specialist, not a technician for crying out loud!

But the nights were worse. Since her body had almost finished healing to its pre-injury state, she no longer slept as soundly as she did back in the village. Nightmares were plentiful and often Abigail would rocket awake in the middle of the night, heart thudding audibly in her ears, biotics flaring and lighting up the inky darkness around her. Without knowledge of the war's outcome, her imagination ran rampant, conjuring fresh scenes of each of her friends dying horrible grizzly deaths that filled her dreams and her waking moments equally.

Abigail clenched her fist, banishing the dark thoughts to the furthest corners of her mind, strengthening her resolve and shutting a door on them and mentally slapping a padlock.

She was a marine. She was tougher than that.

* * *

Roughly a week and a half since her departure from the village, Abigail was lying on her bed roll, staring up at the stars. Beside her, the small campfire was dying down, the glowing embers casting a soft fading light across the clearing she had chosen for her camp site that night. It had been a long, hard trek that day, scaling a series of high rocky hills and she was utterly exhausted and had collapsed into her roll, not bothering to do more than fire up an incinerate at a bundle of logs she had gathered to stave off the chill.

She was nearing her destination. Or at least, she hoped she was. Navigating by landmarks did tend to be rather unpredictable. What one person thought saw might look completely different to what another might see. But if she was right, then she'd only have two and a half days of hiking left, less is she marched through the night. And then she'd finally get some answers. Hopefully.

Just as she was drifting off, an unearthly shriek cut through the night, jolting Abigail wide awake. Her hand automatically closed around her carnifex and she jack knifed to a standing position, her head cocked to the side as she strained her ears for any sound.

Another hair-raising screech pierced the air and Abigail's head shot around.

_That had sounded close!_

She scrambled up from her bed roll and hastily donned her armour, all the while wondering just what kind of creature gave off a sound like that. It was . . . unnatural, to say the least.

_And probably not very friendly._

The second her boots were on her feet, she was off, running through the forest in the direction that the sound had come from. In the darkness, she had only the moonlight above to guide her and she counted herself lucky that she didn't trip and break her neck on the surrounding undergrowth. Abruptly, the forest ended and ahead of her stretched a vast plain; all rocky hills littered with brambles and bushes.

But what really caught her eye was the large stone outcropping that dominated the landscape. The shadow of the night made it difficult to see clearly, but what she had at first thought were a pile of jumbled rocks was in fact a ruin. They sat atop the hill resembling a crown – either that or a hand clawing up in desperation.

Flickers of a small fire shone from the side of the ruin before being extinguished. Someone else was up there. And they weren't very keen on being seen. Abigail frowned, slowing down to a jog. Whatever had made those shrieks definitely sounded like they could take care of themselves. It led her to conclude that whoever was up on that hill did not make those sounds.

_So who did?_

This time multiple shrieks filled the air, accompanied by the thunderous noise of horses galloping. Abigail swivelled around to the plains and her eyes could pick out the culprits – black shapes moving through the darkness with an aggressive and almost menacing purpose. And they were heading directly at the ruins.

Her mind quickly arrived at a conclusion. Whoever was on that hill was hiding from the shrieking creatures. And her gut was telling her that those creatures _did not_ have friendly intentions in mind. Abigail hesitated. This _wasn't_ her fight. She didn't have to intervene on what might happen. She could simply keep going, bypass the ruins entirely.

Abigail closed her eyes and sighed, already knowing what her answer would be, before turning towards the ruins and breaking out into a dead run.

Already, the black figures had shed their horses and were climbing the stone walls of the ruins with frightening ease. Now that she was getting closer, Abigail saw that the figures were cloaked in long black robes that trailed behind them, giving the impression that they were made of nothing but shadow – like wraiths slipping through the night air.

Just as she reached the base of the hill, the first wraith had reached the crest of the ruins. Even from her position on the ground, Abigail could hear the distinct _shing!_ of multiple bladed weapons being drawn from scabbards.

Swearing voraciously, she jumped up and began to scale the stone walls, the crumbling rock providing an abundance of hand holds. Worried shouts – too indistinct to understand, drifted down at her, along with the clash of steel on steel.

_Fuck. Better hurry it up._

Abigail upped her pace; her muscles straining as she almost flew up the stone wall, her fingers barely touching the rock before propelling herself further up. Seconds later, she reached the crest of the ruin and felt her blood run cold.

There, in the centre of the crumbling rock and masonry, were four children garbed in brown cloaks and with, bizarrely enough – bare feet – and all armed with short swords. Surrounding them were five huge figures – the wraiths, the cowls of their cloaks obscuring their faces, leaving a menacing emptiness where their faces should be. Clutched in their wicked looking gauntlets were enormous steel swords.

The four children, needless to say, were horrendously outmatched. Although they tried their best to parry the blows from the wraiths, the almost ridiculous disparity in size meant that it was a futile effort.

Abigail's eyes zeroed in as one of the children cried out in pain as he was knocked down by a wraith, his sword clattering uselessly to the stone beside him. The huge form of the wraith loomed over him as the child tried to scramble backwards. From its cloak, the wraith drew a thin black blade, aiming it at the child.

Abigail had seen enough. This was most definitely _not_ something she could stand by and watch. Her eyes turned cold. There was _no_ excuse for killing children.

It seemed the wraiths still hadn't seen her as of yet. Well, she thought grimly, it was time to change that.

Smoothly drawing her carnifex from her side, Abigail jumped down into the centre of the ruin, shouting out a loud: "Hey!"

The wraith, just about to stab the child, stopped and jerked its cloaked head around to stare at this new intruder – just in time to catch a bullet to its face.

It fell back with a wailing shriek, staggering as it clawed its face in pain. Abigail swiftly turned to the remaining wraiths and fired her heavy pistol until its heat sinks opened to vent – causing them all to retreat from the children with loud shrieks.

"Run!" she shouted. The children certainly didn't waste any time, helping up their fallen comrade back to his feet and scrambling to the far side of the ruins and watching her with wide eyes.

Once she had assured herself that the children were safe, Abigail turned her attention back to the wraiths, who had recovered from her shots and were now advancing on her, swords held at the ready.

She had to give them credit – they didn't die easy. Abigail clenched her hand into a fist, a corona of blue fire coming to life around her body. It was time to fix that.

Now that she didn't have to worry about collateral damage, Abigail fired off a shockwave directly at her oncoming foes, bowling them all over and sending them tumbling into the hard stone. It was almost comical, she reflected. They were certainly less intimidating when they were sprawled at her feet, limbs akimbo and struggling to get back up.

She didn't give them that chance, sending a warp hurtling at one of them and catching it squarely in its hooded face. It was promptly back on the ground again with a screech as the biotic field ripped it apart at the molecular level.

Activating her omni-tool, Abigail keyed up her incinerate and – mindful of its unstable properties – aimed it at the ground beside two of the wraiths. The hot plasma shot off and detonated between the wraiths, showering them with white hot fire. Instantly, their robes caught fire and they quickly fled – staggering off the edge of the hill, screeching all the way down.

Suddenly she was knocked off her feet as a large, dark shape bowled into her, slamming her to the ground hard enough to have her seeing stars. The wraith she had warped had apparently recovered, and it didn't seem too happy with her.

Abigail grunted, balling up biotic energy in her fist before punching the offending wraith in the chest, sending it tumbling off. Not giving it a moment's respite, Abigail leapt up and activated her omni-blade, bringing it down on the fallen wraith's hood and stabbing it in – what was presumably – its face.

Which turned out to be a mistake.

The wraith screeched as the white hot silicone blade punctured through its essence. But all of a sudden, Abigail was jerked back with a gasp as her entire right arm felt like a million hot knives were being simultaneously stabbed into it.

_What the fuck!_

Fortunately, her omni-blade had ignited the wraith and it staggered to its feet, shrieking loud enough to wake the dead as flames licked its body. The excruciating pain in her arm prevented Abigail from thinking clearly so when the wraith began to shrivel up, a strange sickly green light emanating from where she had stabbed it, she thought she was hallucinating.

The wraith then let out one final shriek. It threw its head back and a small shockwave of air exploded from its body before empty robes crumpled to the ground, the steel gauntlets and boots clanging together as they fell.

Abigail froze, blinking in shock.

The wraith's body had completely disappeared. Or was there even a body to begin with? _Shit_. What were these things?

Abigail was too busy staring at the empty robes and it was only when one of the children shouted: "Look out! Behind you!" that she remembered the last wraith.

_Oh. Shit._

She spun around, just in time for the last wraith to plunge its short black sword into her gut.

Abigail staggered back, gasping for breath as her chest seized up from shock. The blade had punctured cleanly through her leather and fabric armour and was cold and hard in her abdomen – she could still feel it imbedded within her. Thankfully there was no pain. Yet. Surely it would come – any second now . . . She screamed as white hot fire exploded in her stomach, like a river of lava coursing through her.

_Yup, there it was._

Abigail collapsed to the ground, painfully aware of the warm blood gushing through her armour. But she could also feel something else – the blade seemed to quiver with a dark energy that she couldn't quite place. Despite the pain of the wound itself, the sword was unnaturally cold – like it was made from solid ice.

And it was sucking her away.

She could feel herself begin to drift off, as if her energy was slowly being siphoned off. The soldier side of her brain pointed out that it was the blood loss – but she was sure that it was the blade. It felt like it was burrowing into her soul, turning her very essence into cold.

A guttural voice whispered in her mind:

 _Shepard_.

Darkness began to curl at the edges of her vision and she felt herself weaken, falling deeper into the blackness.

_I . . ._

Something . . . there was something there . . .

_See . . ._

What was it? Why couldn't she think? Why couldn't . . .

_YOU._

With a startled gasp, it hit Abigail what this was – indoctrination! It was almost exactly the same feeling as when the Illusive man attempted to indoctrinate her at the control room, forcing her to shoot Anderson. Now she knew was she was looking for, Abigail didn't know how she could have missed it. The empty feeling, the cold burrowing into her mind, the hazy thoughts . . .

_Shit! This is not happening again!_

Ignoring the whispering voice, Abigail forced herself to focus on the pain, finding that it kept her from slipping into the cold, invading presence. Bringing herself back to reality, her eyes fluttered open just in time to see the wraith that had stabbed her loom up above, sword glinting in its hands.

_Oh fuck._

Her left hand groped along the ground beside her for the elusive form of her Carnifex, but found nothing but stone and dirt. In desperation, she tried to muster up enough biotic energy for a blast, but she was rapidly losing consciousness, too weak to create more than a little blue spark. The sword point hovering above her was looking sharper and sharper as the wraith seemed content to prolong her death as much as it could.

Suddenly flame filled her vision as the wraith jerked back, shrieking into the night as it was engulfed in orange fire. Then the wraith was gone and there was a man in her vision, scruffy beard and long, gangly black hair. His face was wrought with a worried expression. With a sudden jerk, he unceremoniously yanked the blade from Abigail's chest, causing her to cry out in pain as black spots danced in front of her.

She was vaguely aware of the blade crumbling into ash and the man muttering darkly, "A morgul blade . . ."

She must have blacked out for a while, because when she opened her eyes again, she was no longer on the ruins. Instead, she was lying on what appeared to be undergrowth in the darkness of a forest, a warm blanket wrapped around her.

_What the . . ._

She tried to move her head, but blinding pain erupted from her skull and her stomach. The wound was getting worse. Her nanites were probably working overtime but she was more worried about the invading presence in her mind. It hadn't let up its assault and was constantly probing; trying to find a weak spot, like a tiger circling its prey knowing full well that it could strike and kill in a split second.

When her eyes focused, the four children – four boys – were watching her, sorrow and concern etched on their young faces. And it suddenly occurred to Abigail that they were not very child-like faces, closer to adult proportions.

"Who is she?" whispered the boy on the left, his blue eyes wide.

Darkness again, then suddenly there was a glowing woman hunched over her, all dark hair and large eyes filled with worry. She spoke in a strange language, exchanging words with the man and gesturing to Abigail.

But she was fading in and out of consciousness, unable to keep her eyes open.

The last thing Abigail heard was the man say in a low voice; "The poison spreads, she is fading into darkness . . ."

And all she could think was: _Fuck. This really hurts._

Perhaps sensing her weakness, the dark presence renewed its assault in her mind, trying to batter down her defences.

 _Shepard_ , it whispered, _I see your heart, and it is MINE._

 _Oh shut up,_ she thought irritably.

With that last parting rejoinder, Abigail slumped back and unceremoniously blacked out.


	6. The Last Homely House

_Fire._

_Everywhere._

_Countless bodies littered the ground around her – an endless sea of blood and scorched flesh. Trillions of beings fell limp, like puppets with their strings cut. And above them, the monstrous forms of the reapers in their thousands blocked out the sunlight, descending like angels of death wrought in wings of despair._

_The scene changed around her and now she was in the centre of a battlefield. Looming overhead was a gigantic volcano, deep crimson lava erupting from its fiery peak._

_Thousands of humans and orcs clashed in the ash covered plain beneath, their shouts and screeches of fury intermingling with the violent clash of weapon and shield._

_Suddenly, the orcs parted and a gigantic armoured form stepped through. The human soldiers flattered, staring in shock as the huge armoured form raised a wicked looking mace and proceeded to swing the enormous weapon in a wide arc around itself, smashing through soldiers, their armour crumpling like foil as they were sent flying through the air. Abigail could almost see the shockwave from the weapon ripple though the air._

_And glowing on the armoured figure's hand was a golden ring, shining through the bleak ash covered air._

_**We are the vanguard of your destruction.** _

_The armoured figure lumbered forward, mace swinging left and right, sending scores of soldiers to their deaths. Slowly, the armoured figure turned its head to face her, the dark, empty slits on its helmet boring into her own._

_**This hurts you.** _

_The flaming eye filled her vision, cutting through her defences and laying her soul exposed and bare. It could see everything. There was nowhere to hide._

_**Shepard. I see YOU.** _

_In the barren landscape of her mind, a figure suddenly shimmered into being. A very familiar asari in tarnished white armour, SMG attached to her hip and blue fire writhing around her body, stepped in between Abigail and the flaming eye._

_Abigail could sense confusion emanating from the eye and its hold on her slackened slightly, allowing her to think clearer for a moment._

_She could only stare in wonder as Liara raised a hand wreathed in biotics and with utter fury etched across her face, spoke to the flaming eye, her voice cold and dangerous._

" _Leave. Now."_

_There was a blinding blast of blue, a horrible wailing screech and then there was nothing. The tendrils of darkness bled away and Abigail gave a relived sigh as the pain ebbed away, sweet relief flooding through her._

_Suddenly, she buckled, doubling over in pain as her stomach seemed like it was being set alight. Liara was instantly there, catching her before she fell; worry on her features. "Abigail," she said urgently, "You have to wake up!"_

" _Liara . . . What . . .?"_

" _Abigail, you have to get up!" cried Liara, shaking her slightly. "There is little time!"_

_Still groggy, Abigail wondered what she was talking about. "What?" she asked again, still mightily confused._

" _Shepard! WAKE UP!"_

* * *

Abigail jerked awake, gasping for breath, and nearly fell off the horse.

Wait.

_What?_

Abigail realised four things very quickly. One: she was sitting on a horse. White, beautiful and galloping like the very hordes of hell were charging behind it.

Two: there seemed to be a woman riding in front of said horse, her long dark hair streaming behind her shoulder.

Three: her stomach was burning something fierce, like an icy lance had been permanently imbedded into her flesh. _Which you know, wasn't all that far from the truth_. Thankfully though, the invading presence in her mind was no longer actively trying to beat down her mental defences, reduced to instead prowling at the edges of her consciousness.

And four: there was a wraith not two meters away from her, riding alongside in a monstrous black horse, a steel gauntleted hand reaching out, seconds away from grabbing her.

_Ah – right. Bigger problem there._

Summoning her biotics and gasping as she drained her already severely weakened energy levels, she fired of a weak shockwave at the wraith, nevertheless blasting it off its horse almost comically sending it slamming against a nearby tree. The black horse whinnied at the sudden loss of its rider and slowed to a halt, its head tilted to the side in an almost questioning manner.

The woman's head shot around in surprise, revealing to Abigail angular features held an exotic beauty that seemed to almost glow. It was then that Abigail realised that the woman _was_ , in fact, glowing, her skin radiating an unearthly light. She vaguely recalled a dark haired woman hovering over her when she was laying down on the forest floor. Speaking of which . . .

It was daytime now, and the sun angled midway on the horizon – late morning she guessed. The pain of her wound made it difficult to focus but Abigail continued to try and piece together what she could remember. The fight on the hill. Those wraiths with their black cloaks and ungodly screeching. The children-that-didn't-quite-look-like-children and the man with fire . . . She remembered being taken by surprise and knocked down. And how a wraith had stabbed her as she turned . . .

Abigail swore as the horse jerked as it avoided a pothole in their path, shaking her from her thoughts.

Multiple wailing shrieks split the air behind them and Abigail spun around, glimpsing flashes of black flitting though the trees around them. The thunderous crash of hoof beats heralded the arrival of seven more wraiths, and they closed on Abigail and the woman, arranging themselves in a semi circle behind them.

In front of her, the dark haired woman bent low over the white horse, murmured urgently in its ear in a strange tongue, _"Noro lim, noro lim Asfaloth!"_ It seemed to make the horse gallop even faster

The constant jarring of the horse beneath her made Abigail ever more nauseous, which was not helped by the constant icy burn of the wound in her stomach. Her vision continued to swim alarmingly and she listed from side to side, unable to keep her balance as the dark haired woman urged her horse faster, murmuring more strange words to it.

Exhausted and knowing that she was reaching the edges of her endurance – both mentally and physically, Abigail simply clung to the woman for her dear life, not sure that she could let go, even if she wanted to. A distant part of Abigail's near-delirious mind noticed the soft, floral scent of the woman's hair that was pressed against her face.

Fading in and out of consciousness, things blurred together for Abigail and sometime later, although to Abigail, it felt like mere seconds, the sound of hoofs galloping on hard ground was replaced by splashing water. Abigail creaked open an eye and found herself and the woman on the far side of a large river. On the far bank, the seven remaining wraiths were arrayed on the shore, their horses whinnying furiously. Although they had no faces and therefore no expressions, Abigail could still sense the malice being shot at her direction. After all, she did kill one of their number.

Screeches filled the air and Abigail's wound suddenly flared with an enormous amount of pain, as if there really was a rusty phantom sword still stuck there, being slowly twisted and driven in. She screamed and black stars exploded across her vision. Nausea overwhelmed her and she leaned over to the side of the horse and promptly vomited, the bile burning down her throat as her stomach wrung itself empty. The pain was so total and overwhelming, worse even than when she had been hit by Harbinger's MHD.

In that instant, Abigail knew she was dying.

She knew what it felt like first hand, having experienced it before. And it was just as unpleasant the second time around. She knew that the wound was not normal. There was something in it, whether it was poison or some other strange substance, and it was leeching her life force away. Although Abigail knew that it was impossible, she could almost feel her soul crumbling into ash.

Soon there would be nothing left.

She was vaguely aware of the dark haired woman brandishing a sword above her head and shouting out indistinctly, but Abigail was fading. Darkness was closing around her and death slowly but surely began to reel her in.

In a way, Abigail was glad. If she had to die, she would die content, knowing that she had done so protecting those in need. Fulfilling the duty and upholding the oath she had sworn all those years ago, when she had first enlisted for the Alliance.

" _. . . to be a voice for those who cannot speak, to be a sword for those who can no longer fight. This is your first and highest order. Do you accept and understand?"_

" _Yes, sir."_

The roar of crashing waves filled her ears and then, silence.

Abigail's vision was filled with the dark haired woman's face, tears running down her face as she cradled Abigail's head in her lap. Her mouth was opening and closing but Abigail couldn't hear her words anymore. A pleasant buzzing filled her ears and she no longer felt the pain, or the fear, or the uncertainty. Numbness crept through her limbs and she knew it wouldn't be long now.

Abigail smiled as she stared at the dark haired woman's face, noting her beautiful and elegant features. _I suppose there are worse ways to go out_ , thought Abigail almost dreamily. _She really was pretty._

Darkness crept into her vision, then, nothing.

* * *

Hours later, when Aragorn and the four hobbits arrived in Imladris, they were greeted by a solemn Glorifindel who led them to their individual rooms. The hobbits were quite obviously awestruck as they gazed around the spectacular elven buildings, and more so as they caught glimpses of the many elves that Rivendell paid home to, casually strolling around. After all, this was only the second time in their lives that they had met the fair folk.

After getting the hobbits settled in, Glorifindel took Aragorn to the side. "Forgive Ada for not greeting you in person, but he is currently occupied in the healer's hall, drawing the poison of Saruon from your companion's soul."

Aragorn's face was grave. "She lives," he breathed, half in shock, half in relief. Honestly, he had seen the wound inflicted to her by the wraith. Very few could withstand the poison of a morgul blade.

Glorifindel nodded. "Her will is strong and her heart pure. Odds of her survival are strong."

Aragorn hesitated, before asking, "May I see her?"

Glorifindel looked like he was going to refuse, but the pleading look Aragorn sent him made the elf give in. "Only for a moment," he finally relented.

As the elf led Aragorn through the halls of Rivendell, the ranger's mind was buzzing. He had plenty of time to ponder the identity of their mysterious saviour during the hike to the hidden valley. For the first couple of hours, he had been fraught with worry that the wraiths would return for them – and more importantly, Frodo, but there wasn't so much as a swish of a black cloak. The Nazgul must have been hell bent on following the strange woman, to completely ignore the call of the ring. The question remained – who was she? And what kind of person warranted such attention from the servants of Saruon?

He almost hadn't believed Sam when the young hobbit had told Aragorn that the woman had somehow slain a black rider. At first, he had scoffed, but he was forced to seriously reconsider after the other three hobbits led him back up weathertop and showed him the empty cloak, the hollow boots and gloves lying scattered on the hard, stone ground.

Even now, he still couldn't quite believe that one of the most powerful – and evil, creatures that walked Middle Earth was gone. _And all because of that woman._

The mysteries didn't stop there either. Aragorn had scouted around the ruins and recovered the woman's pack and more importantly – a bizarre looking device to which he didn't know the function of. It was confirmed that it belonged to the woman after the hobbits had assured him it was hers, and that it was some form of powerful weapon.

They arrived in the healer's hall and Glorifindel slowly eased the beautifully engraved wooden doors open, ushering in Aragorn and motioning him to be quiet. They both crept into the light, airy hall. It was empty, save for the bed in the furthest end. It was occupied by the mysterious woman, who was laying almost unnaturally still, her face ghostly pale and her eyes closed. On either side of her, sat Lord Elrond and Arwen, both grasping one of the woman's hands and whispering quietly, channelling their magic as they worked tirelessly together to extract the darkness of Mordor from her.

For a moment, Aragorn caught Arwen's eye and the elf smiled softly at him, a wordless reassurance passing between them. Aragron stayed only for a few more minutes, before slipping soundlessly out of the hall.

* * *

Abigail slowly returned to consciousness, her eyelids fluttering open as she took stock of the room she was in. That was the third time this month that she had awoken in a strange place. Not a good record . . .

It was definitely the nicest one yet though, Abigail decided as she observed the wide arched windows, with gossamer curtains fluttering slightly in the wind. Warm sunlight streamed in, making the entire room glow with life. She was lying in a large and _very_ comfortable bed, dressed in a simple pair of loose pants and a soft white tunic. Although the atmosphere was all very friendly, Abigail was still a soldier first and foremost and so she was already analysing the room for potential threats and escape routes – if need be. She subconsciously reached for her pistol before realising that she was unarmed. Her omni tool remained latched around her wrist however, and she activated it, first checking the date and the time. According to the log, she had been out for around a day. Not too bad, considering . . .

Abigail frowned, carefully checking her stomach wound and found to her surprise that she felt no pain. Similarly, she found fresh bandages on all her various cuts and scrapes from fighting those wraiths. Odd . . . She recalled the overwhelming pain that had filled her last moments awake and she had honestly thought she was going to die. And now – nothing. Not even any lingering soreness. And after only a day? In fact, she had never felt better in a long time. It was as if all her ailments from the entire Reaper war had been healed – siphoned away, almost.

That was weird. And definitely a first.

The scrape of a chair on the floor tiles by the far corner of the room instantly had Abigail on alert, her hand raised in a split second, biotics swirling around her body, a warp poised to let loose from her fingertips.

A small chuckle came from the old man in grey robes that was casually hunched over a chair in the corner. Abigail's eyes widened, before turning hard and wary. How had she missed that? She had diligently scanned the room over three times and she had been trained to notice everything. _Everything_. There were not many that could sneak up on an N7 marine like that, which made the deceptively old man a much greater threat.

Abigail shot out of the bed, sending the covers tumbling to the floor, her hand still aimed at the man. He looked non-threatening enough, sure. Long whitish-grey hair and beard, a large nose and worn, sun tanned skin. His eyes almost disappeared under bushy grey eyebrows, but they still shone through, humour evident in them. In between his lips sat a small tobacco pipe which he merrily puffed as if he didn't have a care in the world and there wasn't an increasingly pissed N7 marine not eight feet away.

"Who the fuck are you?" Abigail demanded harshly, holding her biotics steady.

The old man raised his hands slowly, although his overall posture didn't change. He didn't even bat an eyelash at the corona of blue energy that was crackling around Abigail. This frankly, worried her a little. Even fully grown Krogan knew not to mess with Abigail Shepard when she was mad. Being torn to pieces was not a fate which many living beings wished upon themselves. The fact that this old man remained absolutely calm in the face of annihilation meant two things: one - he was an idiot. Or two - he was powerful enough to not care.

Abigail was really, really hoping for the first.

The man chucked. "Peace," he said; his voice rich and warm, each syllable resonating with an enormous weight of experience. Abigail could instantly tell that this was a man with power. A lot of it. Her mind trailed off; for some reason, he reminded Abigail of Admiral Hackett. "I mean you no harm, my lady," the old man continued.

Abigail kept her biotics hot and her arm raised. "Yeah, forgive me for not taking your word for it," she said wryly. "I don't know who the fuck you are from a bar of soap, or where the hell I am. And I have absolutely _shit-all_ reason to trust you." She hesitated; oddly enough, it was mostly her reflexes talking, her gut – her instinct, wasn't screaming at her as it usually was in situations like this. _Weird_. Still she kept her guard up.

The old man nodded understandingly, puffing out more smoke from his pipe. "You are very right to be cautious," he said. "These are dark times, indeed."

Involuntarily, Abigail shivered, reminded of what Amelia's mother had said, many weeks ago. The old man continued. "As for your question, you are currently in the elven city of _Imladris_ , or as it is known in the common tongue: Rivendell."

Abigail froze, her arm lowering and her biotics fizzling out. Well, well, what were the odds?

"And as for who I am . . ." The old man chuckled again, before leaning forward and removing his pipe. "I am an Istari – a wizard, as they say. They call me _Mithrandir_ ," he said, "but to my friends, I am known as Gandalf the grey." The man bowed slightly in Abigail's direction. "At your service."

Abigail paused, turning her head to the side and further examining the old man in front of her.

"Huh," was all she said, before flaring up blue and firing a heavy warp directly into his face.


	7. Concerning Wizards and Hobbits

The ball of biotic destruction harmlessly dissipated barely a hair's breadth from the wizard's face, succeeding in only ruffling his grey beard.

Gandalf merely arched an eyebrow and took another puff from his pipe, calmly blowing out the smoke as he examined Abigail with a new-found interest.

Shepard, for her part, lowered her hand before crossing her arms over her chest and pursing her lips.

"Fascinating," Gandalf said. "Such remarkable abilities. I can quite confidently say that I have never seen anything quite like that before."

Abigail snorted. "You wouldn't have."

Gandalf tilted his head. "Some would say that your actions are … overly aggressive."

"Had to make sure," Abigail said, still not moving from her spot. "You just popped out of nowhere. Could have been a hologram, or another trick." Abigail hesitated. "Sorry, by the way," she added, sounding completely unapologetic.

"I've had worse first meetings," Gandalf said with a small chuckle.

"So," Abigail said, moving over to sit by the bed, tense and mindful that she was still without armour. "Wizard, huh?"

Gandalf inclined his head. "Istari, yes. And you?"

Abigail paused, considering how much she should tell him. He was powerful, unfazed about her abilities and didn't even flinch at the warp she threw at him. A modicum of respect edged into her view of this old man.

"Shepard," she eventually said. "The name's Shepard."

"Well met, Lady Shepard," Gandalf said. "How does your injury fare? A morgul blade is not something to be trifled with."

Abigail winced, almost subconsciously feeling the scar on her stomach. That fucker had _hurt_.

"I'll live."

"You very nearly didn't," Gandalf said. "Only the skills of Lord Elrond prevented your fall into darkness."

"Darkness?"

Gandalf nodded gravely. "A morgul blade contains evil magics; it twists the mind, tries to burrow into your soul. If it succeeds, you become a wraith, neither living nor dead. Something… unnatural and bent to Sauron's will."

"Indoctrination," Abigail muttered darkly. Then she paused. "Sauron?"

"A being of great evil," Gandalf said. "He dwells in the shadowed lands of Mordor. He is the master of the Nazgul – the wraiths that you encountered."

Fragments of dreams returned to Abigail, snapshots of reapers and husks, interspaced with flames and a deep, menacing voice. "He wouldn't happen to have a single flaming eye?" she asked Gandalf.

The wizard paused, narrowing his eyes. "You have seen him."

Abigail shrugged. "He may have tried to take over my head. _Tried_ being the operative word there."

"And you resisted?" Gandalf blew another puff of smoke through his pipe. "No mean feat. You must possess remarkable strength of will."

"Strength of will – stubborn hardass – pretty much the same thing for me."

Gandalf chuckled. "As entertaining this conversation has been, I think it is time to leave you be. You are free to wander around these halls as you wish – although I would advise a more …diplomatic … greeting when meeting the rest of inhabitants of Imladris." He quirked a meaningful eyebrow at her.

Abigail shrugged, grinning sheepishly. Gandalf tipped his pipe towards her in farewell then strode out the door of her room.

Now alone, Abigail lay back down on the bed and rubbed her tired eyes.

"Well, Shep old girl – you're in it now," she muttered.

Sighing deeply, she rose to her feet, deciding that some exploration was in order to get her bearings. Plus, she wanted to find this 'Elrond' person and thank him for healing her. It was just good manners after all. Not that she was exactly a poster girl for politeness. Another priority was finding where her pistol and armour were – frankly, she felt naked without it. Although that could also have been because of the ridiculously fluttery clothes she was wearing.

She walked out of her room and found herself on a wide, open corridor. Abigail glanced to her left and her mouth dropped open. Stretching across the entire landscape was a beautiful series of waterfalls. Tumbling down from the lip of the valley, the crystal clear water gurgled and splashed, all meeting at a river, which wound through the buildings she was in.

Speaking of the buildings, the graceful, flowing lines of the supports and the seamless construction of everything looked almost organic. If she didn't know any better, she would have said that it looked like it had been grown like that naturally.

"May I help you, Lady Shepard?" said a quiet, musical voice to her side. Abigail turned to find a tall, graceful woman with a mane of raven hair smiling at her

_– churning water – pounding hoof beats – jagged, metal gauntlets reaching out – unholy pain as her mind was laid bare – whispered words in another language, "Noro lim, Asfaloth. Noro lim!" –_

Abigail jerked back. "You were the woman – the woman from the river."

The woman inclined her head slightly, and in doing so, revealed the pointed tips of her ears. Elf. She was an elf.

"You saved me," Abigail said softly. "Thank you."

The elf smiled. "You did us great service when you killed that Nazgul – the ringwraith."

"I take it that's not a common occurrence?"

"They are supposed to be nigh un-killable," the elf woman said.

Abigail snorted. "Nothing's un-killable. You just have to try hard enough."

The elf's lips twitched up into a grin. "So it would seem."

"By the way," Abigail said. "I didn't catch your name."

"Arwen," the elf replied softly. "Arwen Undómiel."

* * *

As Arwen led her on an informal tour of Rivendell, Abigail couldn't help but notice how peaceful it was. It had been so long since she had experienced this much of it. Even when on the Normandy in-between missions, there had been that tense undercurrent, that anticipation that things were finally going to go pear shaped and end up with all of them dead. Doubly so for the reaper war.

The sense of quiet calm that pervaded the entire valley … it was nice. Eerie, but nice.

Arwen was mostly quiet, save for occasionally pointing out a landmark, or answering one of Abigail's questions about life in Rivendell. Eventually, the elf led her towards the sound of clanging. Rounding the corner, they came to a large, open aired pavilion, built (grown?) in the same organic way as most of the other buildings. Laid out underneath were anvils, stone workbenches and a dozen other pieces of blacksmith machinery, along with an assortment of worn tools. In the center sat a massive forge, shaped like a dome, made of smooth stone and brick, its heart glowing a fiery red.

Arwen raised a hand and greeted the elven man hammering. He paused and gently lowered his hammer, his movements precise and graceful, at odds with the muscular swell of his arms.

"This is Hemeldir, our master blacksmith," Arwen said. "He has been repairing your armour – although as I hear, he has had more trouble with your weapons."

Abigail quirked her lips. "Yeah – it's not exactly something that you … come across around these parts."

"Indeed," Hemeldir said, the elf coming forward to meet them both. "If you will follow me, I have your armour." He motioned towards the pavilion. "It was surprisingly well made," he said as they walked, "– crude compared to elvish smithing standards, but for work of men, a fine piece."

In the forges, Abigail found her leather armour and bodysuit laying neatly folded in one of the workbenches, her shield belt and emitter on top. At first, it looked identical to how it was when she first received it – but on closer inspection, she found the hard leather slightly thicker, especially around the abdomen where the nazgul's blade had punctured. To her surprise, the edges of the leather seemed to be stitched with thick metal thread.

"I re-enforced the stress points with woven steel," Hemeldir said, seeing Abigail running her fingers over the stitching. "We have also added extra layers of hard leather, and fused steel webbing in-between, increasing strength and durability. It should now stop all but the strongest a sword thrust."

Abigail whistled. "Thank you – that will definitely come in handy."

"Now, as for your … other armour…" Hemeldir picked up a piece of her old N7 plates, rapping it slightly with his knuckle. He paused, seeming to contemplate what to say. "I have been a blacksmith for thousands of years. I have worked with every material known, from steel to leather to mithril. I am sorry, but the materials these are made from do not exist anywhere on Middle Earth."

Abigail sighed, somewhat deflated even though realistically, she knew the odds were slim. "Yeah, I was expecting that."

"It is fascinating though," he continued, observing the plates with a keen eye. "I have tested this with every type of weapon we possess in Rivendell – and none managed to do more than scratch it – even with elven strength. Lighter than mithril would be at this thickness, yet stronger and more resilient. It is truly a remarkable material."

"With such strength, I dare not imagine what could have caused that damage," Arwen said, gesturing at the half-melted plates.

"Well, I only took a glancing hit," Abigail said, briefly recalling the molten pain of the MHD searing through her flesh. "The weapon that did this could probably destroy this entire valley in a few seconds."

Both elves were staring at her in stupefied silence. "Your enemies must have been great, Lady Shepard," Arwen said solemnly.

Abigail nodded, her expression grim. "They killed a lot of people before we managed to stop them." _– that hated, familiar blaring call announcing death – the cold, stomach dropping dread of being helpless to watch as red fire lanced through the sky, scything through shuttles – a momentary scream cut short –_

She shook her head, pushing back the memories that threatened to overwhelm her. Taking a deep breath, she gestured to Hemeldir. "By the way – do you have my pistol – my other weapon?"

"Ah yes – your … 'pistol'?"

She nodded and he went off to the other side of the pavilion and returned with her carnifex. Taking it from his hand, Abigail checked over it, finding nothing out of the ordinary. Just to make sure, she fired up her omni tool and running a scan. Apart from minor structural and cosmetic damage, her pistol was fine.

Powering down her omni tool, she realised that Arwen and Hemeldir were both staring at her again. The blacksmith was the first to break the spell. Arching his brow, he said, "It would seem that you are full of many surprises, Lady Shepard."

With that, he turned back to his workbench, resuming his hammering. Thanking him once more for his work, Abigail shamelessly dropped the smooth shift she was wearing, leaving her in her underclothes. With some amusement, she noted that neither elf seemed particularly bothered – or interested – for that matter.

She shimmied into her body suit, the fabric armour moulding to her skin, before attaching her new, improved leather plates. Despite the additional layers, it didn't actually seem to weigh any heavier. Elven smithing indeed. Attaching her carnifex to her belt, she also replaced her old N7 armour in its bag. If what Hemeldir said was true, then the ceramic-alloy plates held the potential to be another very powerful equalizer. If she ran into those nazgul things again, she could use every advantage she had. She already had some ideas about how to utilise it …

"Perhaps you would like to eat?" Arwen said from her side, pulling her from her thoughts.

Abigail smiled at her. "I could use a meal."

* * *

Arwen led her through to the other side of Rivendell, to a large, airy, sunlit hall. Seemingly only moments later, a steaming bowl of stew and a platter of succulent fruits and vegetables was handed to her. Arwen excused herself, citing a need to talk to her father and leaving Abigail alone in the hall. With a shrug, she took a seat on one of the many tables and demolished the food in record time. Interestingly, there was no meat – it seemed that these people were all vegetarians.

Abigail paused, tilting her head as she heard voices from the other side of the hall, along with the scuffling of feet.

"Hey, Merry – look! It's her! That lady that fought the ringwraiths!"

"I can see that Pippin. And do you want to say that any louder? She's right there – she can probably hear us."

"Oh. Right."

Another voice asked, "Do you think we should introduce ourselves? Only be polite and all."

A fourth, more demure voice spoke up. "She did save our lives."

"It's decided then," the first voice said.

"Why does Frodo get to decide?"

"Because he's the leader Pip. C'mon, let's go."

Abigail saw the four children from the ruins – no not children she remembered, seeing their very adult faces – coming towards her. Like before, they didn't wear shoes and had large, hair-covered feet. They looked to be around just under a metre tall. _How unusual._ As they came near, she gave them a small smile. "Hello there."

The one on the far right blushed faintly and tipped his head. "Good morning ma'am."

"Please," Abigail said. "Call me Shepard. Or Abigail. Either one."

"Lady Shepard," murmured the other three, giving her timid smiles.

Abigail frowned. Their proportions and voices were all wrong for children, but neither did they look like they had dwarfism. "Not to be insensitive here," she began tentatively, "– and totally shoot me down if I am – but … well, are you human or a different species?"

The one second to the left stood up proudly. "We are hobbits Lady Shepard, hailing from the Shire," He said, before adding, "And I'm Merry."

Merry then proceeded to introduce the rest of his companions. On his other side was his cousin, Pippin; the hobbit on the far right who had spoken first turned out to be Sam, and lastly, beside him was Frodo. Abigail's gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, something about him unnerving her, almost as if a whisper had reached over and touched the back of her mind.

"Nice to meet you all," Abigail said. "Well – this time without creepy undead walking blankets trying to kill us all."

Pippin snorted a laugh. "I like her," he informed Merry.

"Join me for a meal?" Abigail asked them, gesturing to the table. The hobbits enthusiastically agreed and they quickly managed to round up more food; bread and tea, with scones and stews – it was amazing how fast they seemed to produce it, almost like they knew exactly where the food was kept.

As they ate, Abigail was regaled with conversation about their home, the Shire. From their accounts, it seemed like a wonderful, peaceful place. She discovered more about the hobbits, learning that Sam was actually Frodo's gardener.

"Why were those nazgul trying to attack you?" Abigail asked. Immediately, the table hushed and all eyes turned to Frodo.

He looked up at her, his gaze carefully blank. "I have something their master wants, something that they are willing to kill to get." He didn't elaborate any further.

Abigail nodded, respecting his secrecy. Sometimes it was safer that way. They spoke no more of the subject.

When all the food was finished, which took a surprisingly little amount of time, Abigail stood up and stretched, wincing slightly as her abdomen stung.

She saw Merry nudge Pippin and the hobbit straightened. "Right, we best be off – important hobbit business to attend to." At that, Frodo snorted, mumbling something under his breath that made Sam grin.

"Pleasure to meet you again Lady Shepard," Sam said to her.

"I'm sure I'll see you guys around," Abigail said. And with a wave, they were off, Pippin chattering animatedly to the others. But Frodo kept glancing back at her, a slight frown on his lips as he lightly touched something on his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> General Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and Mass Effect are not mine. They belong to J.R.R Tolkien and Bioware respectively.


End file.
